Onwards
I’m writing this looking out over the Mediterranean sea from the Airbnb in Tel Aviv where I’ve been staying for a week, ahead of my gorgeous god-daughter’s wedding tomorrow.
I’ve loved being able to start each hot, sunny day with a long swim in the warm, gently swelling water. But today, when I got to the beach the sea was a mass of frothing, writhing waves, pounding the beach with thrilling ferocity. If it wasn’t obvious from just looking at it, the life guards were making it crystal clear that swimming was out of the question.
So instead I walked along the water’s edge, pausing at times to enjoy the roaring, foaming waves, and particularly the points where, owing to the boulder breakwaters built to provide a protected area for swimming and water sports, they hurtled towards each other from different directions, colliding in plumes of froth that skidded towards the sand.
Walking and standing on that soft, golden sand, and feeling the way it shifted under my feet, and changed in texture and firmness depending on each cycle of waves, I mused on the ways it reflected what little wisdom I’ve acquired through hard won, sometimes painful, experience and frequently only understood with the benefit of hindsight and reflection.
Keep on keeping on
As long as you’re moving forward on the sea-edge sand, it stays relatively firm underfoot. A smooth solid surface that supports you as you propel yourself along. As soon as you stop, the current of the waves erodes the sand under your feet, sucking it away so that you struggle to balance as your feet slowly sink and disappear.
Like it or not, time inexorably propels you forward in life, and whilst there will be periods when you will stride purposefully ahead, your feet supported by stable surfaces that help you drive onwards, there are, equally inevitably, times when you will need, or be forced, to stop. To stand still. To bide your time, and look around for the right direction to head in next. Those are the times when it can be all too easy to get bogged down. To find yourself feeling uncertain and unsteady. As if you’re somehow disappearing.
But, maybe just when you think you can’t pull your feet out of the sodden sand, when the next step shows itself to you, or someone gives you either the push or pull to move you onwards, even if it takes some effort to extricate yourself, you do. And once again there’s a solid path ahead.
Throw yourself in
Rough waves can look scary, and certainly a stormy sea needs to be treated with respect and caution. But wading out into the wild water can also be thrilling and invigorating, provided you stay within your depth and remember that sometimes the best way to tackle an incoming wave is to dive under, rather than try and leap over the top of, it.
Tackling challenges in life can be like facing the oncoming waves. You take the measure of each one and decide whether to meet it head on, turn with your back or shoulder to it, steady yourself and push against it, throw yourself at foaming froth, or dive under it holding your breath until it passes.
Whatever scenario you select, in every case the wave does pass and beyond it there are calmer seas. At least for a little while.
And when you make your way back to shore, pulling yourself against the insistent current, you reach the firm sand feeling empowered and somehow stronger.
Clear your head
For a long time I used to cycle to and from work, and although the majority of my ride, which was through the centre of London, was spent focusing on navigating the teeming traffic, a portion of my route was through Hyde Park. This was the time when I could relax and let my mind wander a little. I called it my ‘wind through my brain’ time. It was when I often came up with my best ideas, or the solutions to problems that had been bothering me.
Striding along the sea has very much the same effect, only doubled. Maybe tripled. It calms my soul, eases my stress, slows my breathing and frees my mind to wander where it will.
I get close to the same effect when I’m out walking in the woods near my home, but there’s something about the sound and sight of the sea that has an extra spirit-soothing effect. It’s where I’m at my most relaxed and happy.
The sea will always be my soul place. The spot I’m always most drawn to. The compelling, ever-changing vista which never fails to restore and replenish me.
Where is your soul-spot?
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