There is something about going to the beach that I love.
The waves come at me incessantly. Never ending, never slowing its pace. I can relive my past standing there and I can foresee my future. What can it possibly be other than more waves? Some huge, some beautiful and some that are deceptively harmless. It's always the same rhythm, the same feeling. Eternally. Some waves approach me looking quite ferocious, but they still die at my feet. Some wash away my wounds or sea shells that I had held on to. Some bring me more goodies, sometimes others' filth too. Some shock me, but I always get over them. There is no time to waste, there are always more waves to counter. They thrill me, scare me and amaze me.
And when I walk away and pat myself dry, I always find strains of sand left behind. Sand that has crept into my hair unnoticed. Sand remains in my pockets, in the folds of my clothes, between my toes. It takes several washes to get rid off. And even when I do, it always feels like there is more lurking where I didn't check. The remnants of a good time, I don't always want to let it go.
There are two ways of enjoying the beach experience. I always first sit at a distance and watch the water. That seems pleasant enough, safe too. But then, there comes a time when I can't resist it further, I need to step in. There is just no other way.
How can I possibly get bored of the beach? The titillating view of the horizon, the certainty of the shore, the occasional dolphins and the endless feeling that I own the world?
How can I possibly get tired of life? I should step in and get my feet wet. I need to let the endless challenges and experiences splash at me, let life's sense of timing humble me. I want to collect my memories, but let them wash away when they have to. There are always more sea shells in the water. And then I can marvel at the gravity that gets me back to my feet when I think I can swim past the tide.
There is something about living this life that I love.