Beaches

Lessons of life and love, of wonder and surprise, of gain and loss are learned on the water’s edge.  At land's end, perspective shifts from an enclosed inland sense of security to a sensory adventure on the horizon.  Standing on any frontier of sand, as far as the eye can see, an endless expanse of blue and turquoise and aqua, of sun and warmth, stretching and stretching to the infinity of the ocean's edge, making us aware of the dual sense of awe and angst, teaching us that life is more than shorelines.

Wonder dawns on the beach.  Beaches show us there is something miraculous about life.  They awaken us, rousing our hopes and dreams, stimulating our energy, enabling us to see past ourselves, beyond safety, understanding there is a world that extends further than our self-made securities, reminding us that life is meant to be lived.  On a beach we feel revived.  It can speak to luxury, a hotel room with an ocean view.  It can speak to romance, a warm embrace and moonlit kiss.  It can speak to intimacy, a blanket and the love of your life.  It can speak to discovery, a walk of contemplations.  The beach makes us younger, more fearless, more open, more courageous.  Dive for that Frisbee.  Ride that wave.  Swim to that spot.  Beaches put us outside ourselves.  Magical moments are lived and experienced, reminding us that we are no longer home and bound by typical routine, but rather we are standing somewhere inspirational and all its discoveries await us.

My travels have taken me to shorelines throughout the world.  I have encountered beaches on the edge of all four oceans, the planet's three largest seas, and a multitude of islands found in various spots all over our globe.  I have stood on the most beautiful beaches in the world.  No matter where I have been, standing there, facing the vast span of liquid blue, gazing into an endless horizon, the feelings are always the same.  The beach evokes this in me, it awakens something inside of me.

If we did not have beaches, we would have to invent them, for the best therapy in the world is beach therapy.  Children understand this more than anyone else.  Is there any place on earth a child is happier than at the beach?  They bury themselves in sand.  Dig holes and trenches.  Hunt for seashells.  Attempt to outrun waves.  And they always build sand castles.

Building a sand castle is a lot like living your life.  Both require a healthy balance of good sense and perpetual risk to have any worth.  Build it too close to the water, and the castle will get washed away before you can finally enjoy it.  Build it too far from the water, and there is no danger involved, no excitement, no fun.  Some castle builders create an elaborate filigree of towers, spires, and minarets.  Their creations are astounding and magnificent.  Not mine.  I have never been an artist.  My sand castles are more like fortified bunkers.  Deep trenches, thick walls, moats to protect against the enemy.  As children, we play games and create fantasies.  We temporarily live within these self-made illusions.  Especially at the beach.  For me the ocean was not just the ocean.  It was wave after wave of attacking armies, barbarians at the gate.  I would build impenetrable walls to guard my kingdom from the rage of the ocean sent to attack with its waves of water.  The moats and deep trenches protected my kingdom, my castle, my people, and of course my princess.  I was the noble king defending my empire with every grain of sand within reach.

This scene from the days of childhood is similar to everyday life.  There are certain barbarians with whom we all must deal; unkind people at work, neighbors who are difficult, or some big, ugly, indefinable thing lurking somewhere in the back of our minds.  Oceans of life send attacking waves of obstacles, difficulties, and problems to penetrate our kingdom, attempting to plunder and loot life's joys and blessings.

On our last family vacation to Hawaii, my three daughters and I engaged ourselves in building sand castles.  We spent hours on Waikiki Beach digging deep into the sand to fortify our position.  Each girl was assigned a job.  Abby built the north and south walls, then placed the castle's flags.  Shayne was responsible for the east and west walls, along with scooping up ocean water to strengthen the walls.  Shelby, with her little blue bucket and red shovel in hand, helped Daddy dig the trenches and was responsible to inform us of approaching waves.  Her high-pitched shrieks and dancing feet - covered in baby-pink aqua shoes - gave us adequate warning of attacking waves.  We always knew when the barbarians were coming.  After hours of building, the sun finally set.  The girls were excited our kingdom survived.  Throughout the night, they made periodic dashes to our hotel room balcony and glanced down at the beach to see if our empire was still standing.  The next morning, they were up bright and early, filled with anticipation, hoping our castle had withstood the assaults of the barbarians' night attacks, praying the sea did not reclaim our creation.

Of course the ocean always wins.  You just accept this with sand castles.  You may have lost the battle, but you won the war.  You walk away from the beach with your little kingdom destroyed, but with your big kingdom, the kingdom of life, intact.  And the drawbacks of the place - sunburn, wet clothes, sand where we do not want it - are overshadowed by its delights.  We might be more comfortable at home, but we would lose a little consciousness.  We would be a little less alive.