A Battle of Wits

I am normally not a beach person because my skin is very sensitive to the sun. If I wear sun screen that is less than SPF of 35, I become a lobster. For some reason, I find myself at the beach once every four years. Am I asking for sunburn? No, I simply want to spend time with my family, and they insist on going to the beach once every four years.

The only saving grace of the beach is the time of day when the sun wants to be in the sky but the horizon refuses to give way to its persistent demands. This is a time when most people are still in their beds recovering from the day and night before, but I see this as time for a reality check.

Almost every morning of that week-long vacation I find myself sitting on the beach and staring down the ocean waves. It is kind of like I’m taunting them to come and take me away. The ocean breathes upon me at Poseidon’s command warning me of its leashed power, and I stubbornly sit there with the wind slashing at my face.

But for some reason, no matter how long I sit there, I always lose the staring contest. It is at this moment that I realize how small of a part I play on this Earth compared to that of the vast ocean. My problems are so tiny in comparison to Nature. From that point on I find my mind completely at ease, and I am ready to take on another day.