Sand or Sidewalk?

Real life is hard. But real life is also beautiful. I am sitting at a picnic table just one street away from Newport Beach, about 45 minutes south of Los Angelos, California. I cannot actually see the ocean from where I sit, but I can hear it and feel its salty breeze. I am clean, having just showered and applied SPF 8 suntan lotion smelling of tropical coconut. It has been a wonderful morning. About 3 hours ago, I went out to the beach, alone, and began to run. I didn’t know where I was or where I was going. I had never been here before. I had tried to come with a friend, several months ago, but instead we ended up at a nearby beach called Balboa. I remembered it being fairly close, though couldn’t remember its exact distance. This morning, I had several hours before having to be somewhere, so I set out to find Balboa Pier.

It was amazing. Still being pretty early in the morning, the only other people out were surfers. It reminded me of a time my roommate and I got up early to watch the sunrise in Salema, Portugal (my favorite place in the world). That morning, we were alone except for fishermen coming just coming in for the day. There’s something wonderful about early mornings on the beach. People aren’t there to be seen. They aren’t looking for approval or acceptance. They aren’t wearing masks. They go because they want to be there and have a relationship with the ocean. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful scenery I’ve ever enjoyed on a run.

The water was enticing. I loved being as close as possible to the shore. As a result, big waves often forced me to jump out of the way and sprint to higher ground. I felt lighthearted and free. Only once was I caught at my own game. Ironically, it was the only time that I was squarely facing my foe. So captivated by the ocean’s beauty, I had stopped running in order to savor the moment. Memorized, I was completely oblivious to a big wave preparing its break close to the shore. Without warning, it completely subdued my feet, socks, running shoes, and ankles. I suppose I could have avoided the soaking had I paid closer attention to the warning signs. I don’t savor enough moments, though, so it was worth it.

As I neared the Balboa pier, the slope going down to the water increased, so that I was running on the side of an incline. It was really hard. Running on the sand is already hard. But this became so hard that I finally gave up and moved to the sidewalk above. I immediately noticed was how easy it was to run on smooth, flat, hard concrete. I could cover much greater distance without near the effort. My second observation was that the people I passed up on the sidewalk were perfect. They poise was perfect. Their bodies were perfect. Their clothes were perfect. Their hair was perfect. Their ipods were perfect. They were purposeful. They were exercising. That’s probably how they stayed so perfect. But they were primarily alone or in perfect pairs. Soon, I realized that I could no longer see the ocean or hear the crashing of its waves with nearly the intensity as I had before. How symbolic. We try and try to protect ourselves from hardship and pain. We use technology and innovation to accomplish tasks with greater efficiency and consistency. But in so doing, we must remove ourselves from real life, thus removing ourselves from both the beauty and the mess. Despite my disappointment that I couldn’t simultaneously experience both the majesty of the ocean and the ease of the sidewalk, I continued running on the sidewalk because I was tired.

On the south side of the pier, I returned to the beach’s sandy slope to reflect on the trajectory of my life. Until recently, I have been a sidewalk girl. Afraid of failure and rejection, I have chosen to walk the paths of least resistance. I have exchanged the acute pain of specific rejection for the pervasive ache of love’s absence. I have been missing out. Without love, what is life? I have heard it said that change only takes place when the pain or risk involved with remaining as you are becomes greater than the pain or risk of moving forward. Through a process spanning 5 years, my fear of an insignificant life devoid of love became greater than my fear of rejection, effort, and pain. And so I began creeping toward the shore. It has been wonderful. It has also been very difficult. But more than anything, it has been real. Sometimes the water has gotten too close and I have run away. A few times, I’ve been in the middle of savoring a moment and gotten drenched. But it has been real.

After several minutes of thinking, I left Balboa and headed back to Newport. I started out on the sidewalk because the sand had tired me out. I couldn’t do it, though. I couldn’t stay there. After only 10 minutes, my tired legs carried me back down to the shore. The sound of the roaring ocean once again filled my ears. The mist of its spray cooled my body. It was beautiful. It was majestic. It was real. I saw a sailboat. Being nearly two hours from when I started out, I was now surrounded by families. Children sat building sandcastles, dirtied by the sand, but having a blast. Their laughter filled me with hope, joy, peace, and perfect contentment. Proud parents were taking pictures. Teenagers tried to stay up on their boogie boards. People were loving life. Once I saw a little kid trip over his feet and bite it pretty hard. But he got back up. Soon, he was laughing and playing again. They were so different from the people up on the sidewalk. Their imperfect faces and bodies radiated joy.

I suppose now that I have run near the ocean, it has awakened my senses and found a way into my bloodstream. Sometimes I get so tired that I have to retreat for a short periods to recover my strength. But retreat removes me from reality. Now that I have been intoxicated by real life, self-protection and ease are no longer worth their high price, so I return. I have traded the sidewalk for the sand.