Yes, it’s January and 64 degrees and I went for a walk at
the beach. But don’t envy me until you see how “relaxing” it was.
I always come home from the beach with a ton of rocks. Every
time I tell myself that I won’t pick up more and every time I fail. They are so colorful and each is tempting in a different, gorgeous way. The fact that my apartment could end up becoming a first floor unit if
I don’t stop adding more rocks is a concern that I never have while inhaling
the salt air and listening to the seagulls screech hello.
Today I decided, before I got done changing into my beach
shoes in the parking lot, that I would not bring home a single rock. I would
meditate while walking, being mindful only of my breathing and the waves
pounding ashore beside me. My walks tend to last about an hour and a half and
one can do something as simple as that for an hour and a half. Right?
Yeah, right.
It was by turns sunny and overcast as I walked, and the tide
was going out so there was a large expanse of wet sand to walk on. Of course
there were also more rocks visible and they were glistening and calling out to
me, “Look how pretty we are, especially when wet!”
Me: Nope, not gonna stop to check out that red one. Just
walk.
Myself: Really? Do you think we already have a red one like
that? That was a nice specimen you just passed up.
Me: Let it go. Don’t start singing that song, concentrate on
the waves. This is relaxing, we’re breathing here, we’re not picking up any
rocks. They will all be here on the way back if need be.
Myself: If need be? That means we’re going to collect rocks?
But what if someone else gets that good one while we’re a mile away? If we’re
going to do it, let’s do it.
Me: No. I said that to get us past that particular
temptation.
Myself: You lied?
Me: That’s a harsh way of looking at it.
Myself: Green one! Look at the green one! Is that heart
shaped?
Me: It is NOT heart
shaped! (stopping to look) It has the vague suggestion of a heart, yes, and it
is our favorite, but it’s staying right there.
You might think the blue ones would be my favorites but you'd be wrong. While I like them, the green rocks possess the true siren's call.
Myself: We’re not picking up rocks but we’re not looking at
the ocean, either.
Me: I know. Damn it.
Myself: OMG! Do you see that? It’s pearlescent! We have
never used that word to describe a rock before. Shells, yes, but never a rock.
We have to have that one!
Me: (bending over and picking it up) Yes, we do. There is no
argument about that. We've not seen this before.
And then, in the same way that one potato chip leads to
another, my pockets became full of green rocks and tawny rocks and a blue hued
rock and a black rock that could be visualized in a craft project that will
likely never actually happen, and my pockets weighed six pounds more than when
the walk started. As usual.
Me: It has to stop. Ocean, breathing, let the distractions go.
Myself: Look at the nice piece of driftwood.
Me: We have driftwood. We don’t need any more driftwood.
Myself: No one *needs* driftwood, but it’s an unusual shape.
Me: They are all unusually shaped. We’re passing it by.
Myself: Is that an arrow? It is an arrow. Someone has
scraped an arrow into the sand. Don’t even think about ignoring that.
Me: sigh…Let’s go see what’s up there on the dune. It’s
pointing at something.
It was pointing at the oil drum that Shell had allowed to
become garbage in the ocean. Too much for me to cart back in my litter bag.
Heading back, pockets weighing me down, another attempt at
mindfulness was made. Deep breaths that
filled my lungs with delicious, salty air, and my gaze on the waves calmed me
for about a minute. Then….
Myself: Red alert! Red alert! Man with a backpack
approaching!
Me: It’s okay. It’s a holiday weekend and there are a lot of
people here (90% of whom stay within sight of the parking lot and don’t venture
as far south as I do). The fact that he’s carrying a backpack does not mean he’s
chopping off the heads of women who walk alone on the beach and carting them
home in that pack. And these kinds of thoughts are exactly why we should be
relaxing. No more Criminal Minds marathons on TV.
Myself: Okay, yes, he’s smiling and waving in a friendly
manner. Wave back. He’s old. We could take him easily if we had to.
Me: Only if he doesn’t have a gun. A gun would change everything.
I: Oh, for the love of everything that’s holy, shut the hell
up! Shut up shut up shut up! Stop talking to yourself, stop following every
something shiny, stop obsessing about fellow beachcombers! We are supposed to
be RELAXING, damn it. RE-EFFING-LAX!
Moment of silence inside my head.
Me: Being yelled at by myself doesn’t really help in that
regard.
Myself: Watch who you’re blaming!
Me: Thinking that being yelled at by I isn’t grammatically
correct.
I: I give up! Continue to be an obsessive nerd! Ignore the
entire Pacific ocean! Have a freakin’ panic attack if it makes you happy – I’m
done!
It should be noted that I is the only one who thinks we should eliminate sugar from our diet.
Me and Myself then enjoyed a lovely encounter with a small,
black dog who wanted to be petted and whose owner allowed it, discovered that “Erik
hearts Brad” and we should “Spread the Happiness,”
took a photograph of a piece of driftwood that was definitely too big to cart home,
and kicked a soccer ball
back to those playing the game when it came in our direction. That produced
cheers of “Girl power, yes!” and allowed the ladies team to score a goal.
I was a complete failure at leaving the rocks alone and
spending an hour and a half meditating as I walked. But me and myself got some exercise. And some rocks.
