“A man would know the end he goes to, but he cannot know it if he does not turn, and return to his beginning, and hold that beginning in his being. If he would not be a stick whirled and whelmed in the stream, he must be the stream itself, all of it, from its spring to its sinking in the sea.”

Ursula K. Le Guin, A Wizard of Earthsea

“And Slid said: “I am the Lord of gliding waters and of foaming waters and of still. I am the Lord of all the waters in the world and all that long streams garner in the hills; but the soul of Slid is in the Sea. Thither goes all that glides upon Earth, and the end of all the rivers is the Sea.”

Excerpt From The Gods of Pegana,
Lord Dunsany

It’s a windy and cold morning on the shore. I’m out walking the beach down by the water, where the tide turns the sand from soft tan to slate gray and my boots leave footprints. It’s easier-going for older people who are out with their dogs. The dogs, for their part, don’t seem to mind the going or the feel of the cold sand; they’re high as kites on all the smells and feeling carried on salt air and the ability to run.

In a few hours, I’ll be on a plane back to Oregon. Back to my wife and cat, our basement apartment up a mountain, and eventually a kitchen that’s felt more like a psych ward the last few months than the serene kind of chaos I want to believe I work in.

Those LeGuin and Dunsany quotes slide through my mind along with “A Pirate Looks at 40.” It feels silly and dramatic and florid, but I don’t really care. Finding a bench on the pier where my grand-uncle once tried to teach me to fish, I could almost cry.

I feel like I had to wait the whole week to have this moment. Just me, the sea, and a cold bench in the sun. I had to wait for everything and everyone else to be done with me first, or I couldn’t really enjoy the moment. I couldn’t feel it the way I wanted to as long as there were still plans happening and people waiting for me.

In fairness, that was probably all in my mind and I could have come down here almost any time this week. No one would have really minded. It was my own decision to put it off until a few hours before my ride arrives to whisk me off to Philly because I would have felt like I was ditching out on time with my parents, and that was a big part of the reason I was here in the first place. Conversations and sit-downs with my family needed to happen that were put off for way too long. The kind no one wants to admit needing to have until Life pushes them in your face or- God forbid- takes them out of your hands entirely.

That was one reason to hop a flight across the country on my own, and a big one, but not the only one. I needed a pause from life on the West Coast and the world. I needed to recover memories of my life on the East Coast, see people and eat food and be in places where I was seen, and actually slow down and rest.

Reaching down, I almost want to pick up some of the sand and shove it in my pocket. I want to whip out a flask and bottle up some of the breeze for when I get home, and I don’t know if I’m truly homesick or if I just want a little bit more time stop Doing and stop Being Someone and just be.

Being in a beach town in the “off season” is a unique sort of peace and isolation if you have the mind to appreciate it. My hometown’s property-owning population shrinks by 66% between Labor Day and Memorial Day. Seaside houses with actual character that weren’t pounded into rubble by Superstorm Sandy are being bulldozed and replaced with gaudy-yet-bland McMansions- raised on pilings and well-insured against climate change. They get let out as Vrbos and AirBnBs- the locals get blocked ocean views, higher property taxes, and dark windows 9 months out of the year.

It’s gray, empty, sad, and sleepy until you decide to like it that way. Then it’s gray, empty, sleepy, and quiet– almost but not quite reminding me of the park near my apartment in the rain, looking down on the Eastside from the crest of a wave standing still in a patchy sea of green.

The bitter-cold sun glitters on the water, steadily lapping at the beach. On cue, I remember how I used to want to learn to sail and if it’s not too late, momentarily forgetting it’s a two-hour drive to the coast where I’d be taking said lessons. I regret nothing about where my life has taken me and what I do. As far as I know, I still have time to make that drive, sign up for those classes, and spend more days on the water. Thus far, life has given me a lot.

After spending a week with my parents and discussing what may be, though, I needed the time to recall what was, what I am carrying with me, what will always be, and the opportunity to spend a while just Being.

Time’s up. I start the short walk back down the boardwalk. There’s more people taking in the cold salt air now, and I know Dad and Mom will be wondering if I’ve had lunch yet. They’ve got leftovers, and I’m not about to pay airport prices for a dry forgotten sandwich in the terminal.

Stay Classy,