From The Beach

This is day two:
I am awake to watch the sky change. Sunrise takes place at 5:44 they say but my sleep pattern is off because my body I still on the hours of Eastern Standard.
For the moment, I am outside, facing the beach and listening to the waves. I can smell the salty air and feel the winds, which are cool on the skin.

I see the waves and the ocean’s tide as Mother Nature’s way of cleansing the shore. This is how The Good Mother washes her child. This is how she cleans the sands and takes away the sediments to be dispersed out at sea.

Perhaps this is why I always feel comfortable to come here and tell my secrets. I can let the waves wash away the unnecessary sentiments in my thinking, to cleanse me, and make me clean.
Question for you . . .
Have you ever smelt the smell of driftwood while standing near one of the piers along the pacific?
You need to do this at least once.

Behind me, the sun is on its rise over California but the cloud formation is silvery. There is a fog rolling in from the west and somewhat hides the islands just off the coast of San Diego.
I love it this way, quiet, almost sad, almost lugubrious, but also beautiful and calm, as if Mother Earth is here to give me permission to feel.

I like that . . .

This is different to me. This is different than anything I have ever seen before—and regardless to whether I see this again or never at all, at least I’ve seen this once.
Yes . . .

We have this thing in our minds. We call it insecurity. I call it fear and consider how all roads lead back to rejection. I say this is a fear that perhaps we won’t ever make it. I say this is fear that we won’t ever feel “Enough,” and that imposterism takes us over. We fear that we will eventually be discovered as a fraud, which is why we’ve always been afraid to try before because nobody ever wants to feel exposed
(or vulnerable.)
Am I right?
I say there is something in us that causes us to literally question everything.
But . . .
Every so often, you look around to see the sights. Then you realize something. You made it. You did what you set out to do.

I suppose I’ll have to touch my toes to the water, just so I can make the connection—or more accurately, I will do this just so I can make the completion of my circuit and feel the value of this moment, which I earned.

Come to think of it, I remember when I was a kid and coming around to different self-help groups to try and keep away from my knucklehead friends and my knucklehead life.
I asked when the great change would take hold and I would feel differently (because I didn’t.)
I was told to hang in there. I was told don’t quit before the miracle happens. I was told fake it until you make it. Just don’t quit. Don’t walk out before the miracle takes place.

But I was outraged. I asked when this would happen. I asked with a loud yell, daring for an answer, shouting at the top of my lungs, “When is this goddamned miracle going to happen?”
An older, whitehaired man in the room looked at me, almost fatherly, almost lovingly, with eyes welled with emotion.
He asked, “You’re still here, aren’t ya?”
“Yeah, so?” I answered defiantly.
“Isn’t that a miracle.”

I knew he was right. I suppose I was hoping for something more profound. Then I realized this was profound. With all my thoughts and all my fears and with all my insecurities and reasons to quit, I stuck around.

The Old Man used to call this “Sticktoitiveness.”

[stick-to-it-ive-ness]

The Old Man said this is how you win. This is how you overcome. This is how you succeed.
Sticktoitiveness.
It is 5:46 now.

The sun is officially awake and the silvery clouds look as though they plan to disperse.
God, I love sunrise.

I love the changes in the sky. I love the different stages of morning’s first light. I love the view. I love that I earned my place here and that this is what happens when we stick to it.
For now, I am watching the waves come in to cleanse the shore and wash away the unwanted sediments to disperse them out to sea.

and it’s beautiful

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