Ocean

The boys had last week off from school and we spent some time in San Diego. For N, this was his first time seeing the ocean in person. B had last seen the ocean when he was two. He had no recollection of the event. My memory is that he was much more interested in the sandy beach than the vast blue expanse or the rhythmic waves.

I was excited to introduce the boys to the ocean. I didn't meet it until I was an adult and I immediately fell in love. It relaxes me. If I stop to think about it as I stand on the shore, I'll notice that my breathing has synchronized with the waves. It is one of those times when nature steps up and inserts itself into my life, forcing me to feel its presence. As the water surges and retreats along the beach, I hear its advice, "Breathe, just breathe." The ocean is old, ancient even, and vast. Surely, it must also be wise. As I stand there, I heed its advice and I just breathe and try to think of nothing else.

I think the boys liked the ocean although I think their perception was different from my own. Maybe kids are just less in need of relaxation. They did not see the gentle nurturing giant I did. To them, the ocean is more monster than mother. It is mystery and danger: rip tides and sharks, sunken pirate ships and deserted islands. Part of the thrill was wading out into the water and touching the beast. A different experience from mine but enjoyable, nonetheless. Maybe part of the ocean's magic is that it is vast and complex enough to satisfy a variety of needs.

Now, we're home again. Far from the coast. As we settle back into the routines of work and school, I remember the sound of the crashing waves and try to remain relaxed. Breathe, just breathe. A couple of nights ago, we had our first thunderstorm of the year. I stepped out on our back porch and watched and listened to the driving rain. I realized that even here at home nature can find a way to touch me.