Low Tide

It was low tide when I awoke this morning, both on the Pacific and in my own psyche. It was one of those days, you know, where for no good reason everything just looks dusty and bleak and unappealing.

I didn’t want to go to the beach, really. I didn’t want to get out of bed. Still, my beloved was in a different mood, and her invitation to go on a beach walk in low tide was too good to resist.

I love tide pools, you see. I’ve written about that before. They invite me to hunt for small, unexpected treasures. And they provide me a sense of adventure. So I went.

Well, it wasn’t just low tide. It was “lowest tide of the month.” So the opportunity to see things usually covered in gallons of ocean was prime. There were sea anemones, sea pickles (look them up, odd creatures), dead lobster shells, and all sorts of other wonders. It was glorious. It brought out my younger me.

My beloved was mourning the loss of starfish. There were none where dozens should be. Google said they caught some strange Pacific disease, due partially to global warming…but they might recover some time in the near future. That was reassuring.

And then, just as I’d given up hope I might recover from my melancholy, we saw a piece of seaweed wrapped up in an infinity symbol. Imagine that, nature creating geometric art just for our observation.

So I considered. Infinity. It’s a long time. It’s no time. It’s all time. This beach and these tides have been in rhythm for thousands of years, millions even, and that was only a scratch on the surface of infinity. And here I was to observe it. Maybe this funk of mine is just a tide as well…at an especially low ebb is all. Maybe soon the waters would roll back over all my funky parts and I’d feel better again.

So, I considered it a gift from the heavens. This infinity seaweed strand on the shores of low tide. And that cheered me up. I needed a bit of “special” in my sea of “mundane” thoughts. It reminded me that while the tides of joy or melancholy may be cyclical, consistent, and unavoidable, how I choose to navigate those tides can make all the difference. That choice is mine, always.

Someday my joy and maybe even the starfish will be back. Till then, there’s always something miraculous to see, if I’ll only I’ll go out and look for it.