Picking Up the Pieces
Winter escapes to oceanfront destinations now are memories, and spring breaks are coming to a close, too. This year, like all loyal beach walkers, I couldn't leave footprints in the sand unless I was searching for shells. But on the second or third outing I found myself asking, what's this shell quest really about?
My home hardly needs another glass vessel filled with the skeltons of marine animals. So must I keep my eyes affixed to the sand to have something to "do" because I can't slow down enough to just enjoy the walk, the feel of sun on my skin, a breeze blowing through my hair or sand scrunching under our toes? And why do I get excited when I think I've spotted the most incredibly whole shell, only to feel disappointed when my probing reveals not a glorious masterpiece of Mother Nature but another broken shard? Why do I always keep an eye out for that one flawless shell? What's wrong with being a piece of perfection?
So on day three I started picking up interesting pieces whose colors, shapes and textures I could ponder. I wondered where they'd come from, knowing that before they'd arrived with a recent wave they'd been home to an ocean creature, weathered some strong currents, been tossed about and pounded nearly to oblivion. As I examined each piece I wondered about its story and wished it could tell me its age, wax on about its finest times, and reveal how it came to be in pieces.
We've all been tossed and challenged and lost something along the way. And I doubt the perfect shell and I would be compatible. How many perfect people do you have among your friends, family and co-workers? It's the pieces that have the best stories, don't you think?