Whenever I go through a major transition of any sort the first place I head is the beach. And whenever I do, it seems that Mother Nature is well aware of why I’m there.
There are people who love the mountains and there are people who love the beach. I love both, but if forced to choose, I’ll take the rich aroma of brine and sand that wafts from the coast any day.
I grew up spending every summer by the beach in Atlantic City, NJ. (No Jersey jokes, please … and for those of you who just can’t help yourselves I’ll save you the trouble … it was exit #2, now with that out of the way, I’ll carry on.)
Where was I?
Right. The beach.
Like many people, I have a deep connection to the ocean. It’s the first place I go when faced with some sort of major event in my life – both joyous and not so.
Though I don’t know that my data set is extensive enough to merit full belief that there’s a metaphysical connection, it does seem that any time I face a personal or career crossroad and head for the beach in California the surf is particularly rough – powerful waves crushing the shoreline, heaving froth at the sand, a cascading rumble punctuating each toss.
Certainly the shoreline of Northern California tends to be more rugged than calm, but I’m not talking about your average coastal surf. I’m talking about the kind of waves that hit the break line with a roar that rips the air in two.
And so I sit back, feet burrowed in the sand, feeling the cool mist spray from the edges of each wave when it reaches for the beach as if to hug it, but ending each gesture with a sharp slap.
It feels like Neptune is leaning forward and offering a sharp slap upside the head to anyone, everyone. My question is how a person could possibly witness this scene without paying heed. And as a matter of fact, every time the crack sounds, the heads of anyone on the shoreline who wasn’t already transfixed by the waves snapped to attention.
We spend so much of our time removed from nature, buffered by time spent in cubicles, cars, apartments, homes – moving from one box to another spending little time connected to the energy around us.
No wonder people are bored at work, at home, in relationships. This caged existence cuts off the vital power line that runs between our respective psyche and the world in which we live. But unlike other energy crises, this is a power shortage that you have the power to fix.
So take a moment and take a trip to the beach. It’s worth getting some sand between your toes.
If you’re in San Francisco and head to Baker Beach, look down the shoreline for me and Archie. We’ll be down there plugged into the power grid and happy to clear a spot on the sand for you.