i grew up close to the coast; while the area and its people are known for being beach-centric, i was not. in fact, there was a time i hated the beach. my earliest source of dislike was beach sand itself. the sand would get in places it just shouldn’t be. specifically, i hated the granules for finding a home in the space between the skin of my toes and the straps of my sandals. they worked hard to create comfort in that home, sanding down and smoothing my skin in the most painful of ways. each step from the sand dunes to the strip–that little strip of road that ran parallel to the beach itself–would grow to feel like its own brand of sandblasting right there in my shoes.
the strip was the place to be. i hated it most. in peak season, there were the throngs of people. it became a coming-of-age art to weave in and out to find your path. it was discomforting and overstimulating. the strip was also the place people went to be free. catcalls and corner prayers echoed off the store awnings. bikinis and board shorts as far as the eye could see. girls weren’t supposed to get mad if someone grabbed us or slaps our behinds as we walked past them. there was often too much going on and too many going by to pinpoint one bold dumbass in a sea of them.
one time in high school, i was down on the strip with a few friends. we were cruising in my friend’s pathfinder, just being teenagers. you know, the kind of very responsible teenagers that forget to lock the doors when we got in. because this was in the before-times when automatic locks only engaged when you left a vehicle. we were stopped at a light when a random guy walked over and climbed in next to me. the mixed aromas of a freshly-snuffed tobacco, cologne, bergamot hair grease, brand new sneakers, and mint gum created a curious blend. his cornrows were fresh and his gold fronts gleamed. he didn’t scare me. his presence–his actions–did.
but women of my lineage don’t show things like that so it turned to an angry brand of madness and i. went. off. i cussed and fussed and kicked and hollered. i didn’t scare him. my presence didn’t scare him; my actions did.
the alternative was the boardwalk. that’s the place active people go to be active. i never had any disdain for it, really, but there wasn’t any standout reason to love it unless i went to ride bikes or rollerblade or run — something like that. i tried to find solace there but it’s so busy it seems like if you’re going to stroll leisurely, as i would, you’re out of place. it’s the middle. like the purgatory—the strip is an obvious choice for hell and the beach. ahhh. heaven.
there was that one time, though. this guy kissed me so good on a bench on the boardwalk that i thought he may have been the second coming of the savior. close to enough to heaven, i thought. but then i listened when he spoke and that killed all the noise. good thing, too. as i look back, he was just a doorman for purgatory—the conductor between heaven and hell.
but then, after that, the beach itself invited me to shift my paradigm. to try one more time to find favor there. to forget about the restraint and structure of shoes and the need to stay on guard for the journey. it beckoned me into a moment to let myself get lost. that’s where i found love. i found heaven on the same beach i thought i hated.
we strolled leisurely across the sand, in search of favorites. with open minds. holding fast to social graces. he saved me from too much of everything and nothing, with just a walk and a talk. matching. the reciprocity it required of me energized and revived me. i loved it. and that walk—the longest, loveliest walk of my existence—changed my life for the better. and it balanced out all that ugh-blahness from before. i began to love the beach for the favor i found. it became my favorite, most populated location to be alone with love.
the waves crashing made me remember how good and pure persistence can be. he was. but not in a tsunami kind of way or like the man on the strip that time. no. he was the like the ebb and flow of the tide. you know how it gently, steadily reshapes the shore line and erases the footprints of those who came before? you know how the tide makes things look and feel brand new? that’s how he was. like the beach. and the salt of the water made the cut on my leg from shaving sting a little. but then the next day it was almost healed. it was like magic. or a miracle. or a gentle reminder that this, too, shall pass.
you know how calming the ocean can be? and the sound of the water rushing might startle you a bit but not exactly scare you? how sometimes, many times, the sound excites you in a giddy kind of way? makes you feel youthful and exuberant? makes you want to jump into the next tide sweeping in? makes you want to get carried away? he’s just like that. and you know how the ocean seems to dare you to be open and willing? like it needs you to try something new. there’s a newness unmatched down there on the beach. sometimes it looks and smells a lot like reckless abandon because you know there’s danger in there—especially at night when you can’t see it all, because that’s when the current is most surprising, but it’s okay.
because it’s heaven, it won’t be predictable. and there might be tears. saltwater can burn your eyes. but you wouldn’t know heaven if it weren’t for hell. and there might be discomfort, but that’s because change and transition and newness throw us humans off sometimes. yea, you might get lost on the beach but someone will always find you. someone will walk with you. and you may find a brand of madness somewhere, either within or without you, but hell, every experience should be an experience,
right?
bloom + flow 