A Walk at the Beach

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.