Vacation post 2: Walden by the sea

It seems like, no matter who you are, there's something about saying "going to the beach" that lights a spark in a person's eyes. For some people, I'm sure it must be all the campy beach shops and other touristy attractions. Some people are total beach bums/beach bunnies, and want to spend every waking moment on the water's edge. I even know a person or two who get most excited about the prospect of eating "real" seafood.

I'm a city boy; there's pretty much nothing I can do to deny that. Although I grew up in a county that had just gotten big enough to fund and populate it's own public school (a K-12 school - we weren't having to share facilities with the next county over any more!), I really began to come into my own when I was introduced to the cities of the world. I moved at a fairly young age from this little county to a suburban community, and then to a small city at a fairly young age. I learned how to "live city", but because I was still in a transitional sort of place (too big to be anything less than suburban, but still small enough that calling it a "real city" would be laughable). It wasn't until just a few years ago when I got my first exposure to some of the world's metropoles (metropolises?) that I realized just how deep my connections went. I spent 6 months in London doing research as an udnergraduate, and in the time I was there I began to live and breath the city. For no reason I could fathom, I had an almost intuitive understanding of the rhythms of the city. A few days before I had to fly back to the United States, one of the directors of my "programme" told me "you've been here a few months, and already you're as much a Londoner as someone who lives here." When I went to New York for the first time a year or two ago, it was even easier. I was there a week with my family (mum was there for a conference; lil sis and I came along to sight-see), and by the third day I had to bite my tongue to keep from complaining about "all the tourists". Budapest was probably my greatest adventure of all. Along with languages like English, Arabic, and Chinese, Hungarian is supposed to be one of the most difficult languages in the world to learn. Despite this extreme language barrier, I managed to have an incredible time there...although I really would have wished for closer company. Most of my days were spent in solitary exploration of the city, and being a slim redhead (moreso then than now; I've put on a few pounds since then) in a city full of stocky, olive-skinned natives made me begin to feel a little bit homesick.

But while the city may be my heart, it's in nature that you'll find my soul. I've already mentioned some of the reasons people may love to go to the beach, but as we were planning this trip, there was only one thought that kept coming back to my mind, that quickened my pulse and caught my imagination. I wanted to stand at the very edge of the water, to feel the sand beneath my toes and the tide washing up around my ankles. When you close your eyes, all you can feel is the sea breeze encompassing you. The sound of crashing waves drowns out most other things. The wet sand is firm until the tide rolls over your feet; then it feels as if it dissolves away, and there's that moment's sensation (no matter how firmly your feet are planted) that you're going to fall backward. Open your eyes and the first thing they'll be drawn to is the stark slash of light-blue against dark-blue, where the hazy sky ends and the ocean takes its place. It looks like some heavenly power took a ruler and a fine-tip pen and declared "this is where one shall end, and the other begin." It amazes me that, although hundreds of years of scientific teaching have convinced me that the earth is round, that the curvature is so slight that it appears completely flat. More than flat, it appears that the horizon had an EDGE...and I would believe that Thule, or Avalon, or the far shores of some other mystical kingdom were waiting for me on the other side. There's an incredible sense of wonder in standing at the edge of the ocean.

And that's what I look forward to most when I come to the beach. While I live according to the rhythms of the city, the city life and city pace is essentially human; it places the individual, and the accomplishments of individual people at the highest tier of acheivement. To me, cities sanctify humanity at the pinnacle of creation. To visit the mountains or, especially, the beach, and to immerse myself in the elements of nature (even of those elements have been "tamed" to the needs and whims of vaction-goers) is a lesson in humility and powerlessness. NO matter what I do, or how great I become, I'll never match even a fraction of the power of the wind, or the majesty of the ocean, or the wildness and revel of the sandy shores where all these forces meet the earth. When I acknowledge that my own action isn't the most powerful force in my life, all is right with the world. To stand at the edge of the ocean is an act of worship, a thanksgiving to nothing and to everything all at once.