Waves

Sometimes when I am in Zandvoort or Bloemendaal my thoughts take my feet down to the grainy sand. I am not quite sure what it is, but there is on occasion a need to reflect on the past and present as well as the decisions I have made in life and what could have been had I been somewhat wiser with my choices.

As the cold wind presses against my pale and and wary skin that has rejected caress too many times to be counted, I feel as if I can let go. As I let my feet carry me and make visible tracks of my existence along the edge of the water I remember things I pressed away. Since I sometimes go early mornings to see the sunrise I feel no need to contain my inner unease should I feel it.

It is something about feeling the elements of this earth hit me with a power only mother nature can create. As if she is reminding me that I am alive and that I need to foresee my road ahead. I think about whatever my brain or heart needs to deal with and I find some kind peace or keep some kind of reckoning of what I have done and from that what I have learned.

When I walk along that beach without any person in sight and the sounds of the waves repetitively and increasingly washing across the footprints I already left in the sand I can laugh about the silliness and funny moments I have had with people and I can cry if I need to. Because the judgement of people is far away, fake friends are far away and real ones are not going to get worried about seeing my messy self before I collect my thoughts and turn back.

With the increased use of social media as a channel to share feelings or opinions grows the judgement from others. People who has not been a part of your journey, people who do not have a slightest interest to be a part of it because all they really want is to make an opinion about you and to be angry or annoyed at something or someone who are not like them. Making an opinion about these kind of people is easy, but looking at my own retrospect is somehow less endurable. Does that make me a bad person? I gather it does not, yet sometimes I wonder. Why does a part of me sting when I find out that someone makes an effort to hate the things I do?

As I find it more and more appealing to walk along the beach or seek nature to contemplate these things instead of writing online about it I do gather I could stop writing all together. Stop sticking my head out in the quest to still the chatter and gossip that has always surrounded me. But then I question, if it was already there before facebook, before instagram and before blogs were ever created....will it really stop? Should I care or should I just accept that it hurts a bit and move on and focus my energy on the things that make me move forward?

It seems like an easy enough choice and it is. Yet I catch myself too often thinking about it and pondering what steps to make next. After all, in the end our footprints in the sand will not last forever so will it matter to fight the gossip? Will it matter if I have fun playing at the water edge for a while without writing about it?  

We all have our places or manners to deal with insecurities and the events we have and may encounter. I go to the beach sometimes or just seek comfort in the natural world wherever I am and yes I write. Not to catch people´s interest or because I think I am awesome or very important. It is an inner need to describe what I see and distinguish my feelings from reason. It has always been in me and if people choose to read it, this would be their own choice. If anyone finds any help or gather any greater knowledge or joy from what I write that would be a nice compliment, but it is not always my goal in writing. It is simply to write. We all have our own way and this is mine.

xx Viking