On a misty morning stroll, I find myself skirting the edge between a fickle receding tide where the sand is firm and easily navigated and the dry sand that slides away underfoot turning my stroll into a trek. Thrilled to be walking on the beach below my new home and tingling with the excitement that comes from first experiences, I hear the sound of the rushing water through the pebbles, I smell the seaweed that has washed on shore and I feel the cool damp of the fine mist off the water. I know, however, that the more I am on this stretch of beach, the less vivid these sensations will be and that I may soon start to lose the intensity with which I am experiencing this special place. I vow that I will notice the details: the sound of the waves, the color of the water, the level of the tide, the shells and rocks that wash up on the shore,everything that makes this moment in time unique. I will make my early morning walks a daily meditation.
Today the tide is going out and I see the claws and shells of the crabs that the seagulls have just finished feasting on. I'm fascinated by the tracks that the rivulets leave behind as the moon pulls this enormous body of water away from the shore. I wonder why some stretches have lots of pebbles while others are made of soft sand. I notice the many different shells and then I notice something shiny. Sea glass! Why is sea glass like a treasure? Is it the color or the shine? Or, is it the idea that the sea has taken something that someone has discarded, and over time has broken it, turned it, tumbled it, and slowly softened it, smoothed and shined it and made it into a treasure. Do we observe something of ourselves in the sea glass?
I see that I am not the only person who is fascinated by this gift from the sea. A person in the distance stops and bends down, first to examine the sand more closely and then to pick up a small treasure. Normally very easy going, I feel a surge of competitiveness rise up inside of me and I resent this stranger for finding a piece of sea glass that I might want. I start to walk more quickly trying to find more glass before this stranger picks up "my" pieces. Wow!! Where is this coming from? Surely there is enough beach and enough sea glass for both of us! Luckily I stop myself and remember that this walk was supposed to be about noticing the beauty in the details. Can 5 pieces of sea glass be more fascinating than one piece?
I see so many metaphors for life in a simple walk and decide to think of this as an opportunity to remember that in life the value is not in how much we have but in how much we appreciate what we have. Surely the color and shine in one piece of glass would bring me just as much joy as the color and shine in 5 pieces of glass. I look at the small assortment in my hand, choose a pretty white piece whose shape reminds me of a heart and throw the other pieces back on the beach. Will the other beachcomber pick them up? Will she appreciate 5 pieces more than one? Maybe. I, however, decided to pick up only one piece for every walk I would go on. Over the years I may accumulate a collection but it will be reminder that each day brings something new and that treasuring the small things is what makes us rich.