Gliding just above the California coast, I peer beyond the infinitesimal waves, divots, grains, and spirals as words escape me once again.
As a writer, it is my duty to hold onto fleeting moments for just a breath longer: enough to encapsulate the undulations of the tides mirrored by the stillness of the cloud cover. And yet, as I graze my eyes over a sight I’ve enjoyed many times before, this time feels different. Grey clouds cast their doubt like hands strained from holding up the storm while shards of crystal blue reach down for me. All the while, the full-bodied swell reminds me that the richness of life will overflow and bring waves crashing towards the shore, eternally.
The beginning of a new chapter brings old memories, emotions, fears, and aspirations bubbling to the surface. Questions regarding the perseverance of desire, the truth in direction, or the vastness of spirit wreck havoc like the sound of racing thoughts on a late night spent staring at the ceiling. Now has several thousands of alternate routes all cascading into the hours and seconds spent confronting the reality at hand. The ability to navigate the ocean of your life can be as thrilling or challenging as you make it, so long as the final destination is somewhere both realistic and bewilderingly unattainable.
You are the creation of an unfathomable amount of energy beating against the relentlessness of time: a form crafted from chaos and serenity, an ever-changing product of space debris. It is perfectly acceptable to feel your eyes well with water as you contemplate the extraordinary sinew of fate. It is also encouraged to drive at whatever lies beyond grey clouds and quiet ocean with full force, conscious of the gifts that life may bring no matter how many times you’ve boarded the same coastal train.