When I was her age, going to the beach in the dead of winter was never a thought. Not that we were living close enough to the coast to pack up the car for a day’s hike along the shore anyway. No worries, though. I’ve got her same little-kid sense of wonder and excitement every time my feet hit the sand, regardless of the season or my age. Today, I looked just like her, right down to the sand eddying around a pair of cute wellies as the gentle waves receded. Maybe my seaside adventures were meant to be delayed. My younger self no doubt would have enjoyed hunting for shells, digging in the sand, and racing the approaching waves, but I’m not sure I would have appreciated other aspects of the day: the tang of the nippy salt-laden breeze on my lips, the perfectly imperfect striations on the razor clam shells, the way the sun’s rays illuminated the beached strands of Crayola-bright kelp, or the flat-out, belly-to-the-sand run of an Australian sheepdog chasing his favorite ball. So much to take in, yet there is no haze of ambiguity or impression of chaos; every detail is unusually clear yet remains solidly in its context. My senses, it seems, only ever work to their full potential when I’m at the beach.
I want to be a writer, yet Henry David Thoreau's cautionary words echo in my brain: "How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live." Knowing I have promised to blog daily for the coming year, I am committed to living the next 365 days to the fullest by seizing new opportunities, making old routines less mundane, and immersing myself in the details of ordinary situations. Building these habits will be key to convincing myself that I can legitimately sit down to write a future bestseller!
The Year in Review
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