I could feel it all week. Having spent so much time in the mountains lately, I needed to get back to sea level.
Without anywhere in particular in mind, I scanned the Oregon coastline on Google Maps. I only had Thursday night before my next climbing trip over the weekend, so I needed to stay close to Portland. Nothing jumped off the map until I moved up to Washington. Long Beach caught my eye. It was that kooky little town on my bucket list discovered while facilitating a retreat nearby a few summers ago.
The closest campground was at Cape Disappointment State Park. I’d never been there!
Or had I been there too many times to count—figuratively that is? Is it possible to live life to the fullest without having hopes or expectations?
One of the many things I was wondering as I set out on this brief personal retreat.
As soon as I parked, smelled the salt air and discovered the tiny trail directly from my campsite to the beach, I knew: This was exactly where I needed to be.
As if I had planned it long ago, instead of the night before.
As I sunk my bare feet into the sand and scanned the beach, my first inclination was to explore the caverns and shoreline of this place I’d never been to until sunset. Getting to know every inch of it. Seeing everything. My curiosity always steering the course. Yet, this wasn’t what had drawn me to the coast.
I needed to just sit there.
Three steps and four drift logs from where I emerged.
Just me, Grandmother Ocean and all the feelings of doubt and insecurity about ever living into my fullest potential as a human. Potential recently tapped into during peak experiences, but not yet amidst my day-to-day. Bringing forth everything I have been gifted to offer the world: family, kids, writing, teaching, retreating, being.
Simply being.
Amidst all the doing, could our being be all that’s asked of us?
So simple. Yet so immense. I still can’t wrap my head around it.
Saying yes to one thing and no to everything else.
Yes to being right here, right now, in whatever this moment holds.
Like the waves lapping on the shore. The birds flying overhead. The lighthouse on the cliff, constantly turning to spread its light.
Can just being lead me to everything I’m drawn to? Do I need to do anything? Besides showing up?
I sat there smoking a cigar until the sky, waves and beach turned the same shade of grey and there was no one else on the beach. Just me, Grandmother Ocean and all the sensations of being humbly, vulnerably, courageously so very human.
I carried this truth with me from sea level all the way up Mt. Adams, where I camped 24 hours later beside a different ocean than I’d ever seen before.
May you say yes to being this week.
Love,
Jules
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