The Beach

I live at the beach, play at the beach, and breathe the beach.

I am the ocean waters that lap against the infinite grains of sand that call the space between my toes home. When children play in my waves and surfers ride them in, I feel like I serve a purpose. I am not just a vast body of water anymore. I am loved, I am wanted.

I am the sunrise that backlights the horizon every morning. I watch the early-morning joggers pound the sands with their athletic legs. I begin to provide the light people need early in the morning and leave it to the west coast to take it away. The beach gets the first glimpse of my light and the last dark patch of my absence. I serve a purpose, people expect me.

I am both of these things when I think of the beach. The beginning and the end of time as far as I'm concerned. Although I am no Jesus, I can walk on the ocean waters and pause at the very moment when I think I'm going to drown. My dreams keep me afloat, my aspirations, my desires. The vastness of the ocean is synonymous with my potential. It's all out there, somewhere. Scary to some, inviting to others. Neither to me. I am neither frightened nor at ease with the vastness of the ocean. The currents take me where they will.

Something about living by the water changes the way you think about the world. The infinite and humbling feeling I get when I stand on the beach looking east is something I crave on a daily basis. I see flashes of it several times over the course of the day and even more in my subconscious. When I am at the beach, I take snapshots and save them up for later. This is what my life looks like, I want to remember it.

The sound of the waves crashing reminds me of the unstoppable passing of the days. I can see a wave coming, the white crest forming many yards out. Some are big, some small. As they swell up and begin to form, I prepare for the sound. When I'm at the beach I can see into the future. The beach is my crystal ball. Incoming waves like incoming days fail to knock me over.

The ocean is nameless to me, but it has a face. A very vivid one in which I can see changes in attitude and temperament. Most of the time the face is calm, content. Some days it swells with rage and beats down on me like an angry street thug. The next day it will be as calm as ever, almost as if to say "I'm sorry about last night, I didn't mean it." When the ocean rages I'm reminded of the temperament of my days that has been known to show itself. One day, all hell. The next, pure calm.

The water, the air, the sand, the sun, wind, the waves, the birds. These are the elements of my life. From the cacophonous noise of the seagulls to the cool, white sand under the pier, I am intimate with all of them. As I know where the waves are going when they begin to form, so I know where my life is going.