Take Nothing, Leave Nothing
it's not the rock, it's the present moment.
Hello Friends,
I have a take nothing, leave nothing policy when it comes to treasures found at the beach. Seashells, sticks, and rocks, especially rocks, do not come home with us.
I wasn’t always so militant. When the kids were young, we walked the beach and stuck shells and sticks in our pockets like promissory notes to love them forever. But once we got home, whatever magic it had at the beach was gone; the rock was quickly discarded, never to be thought of again.
After tossing more than a few piles of sad rocks and shells, I finally said, “No more treasures. They just sit there collecting dust instead of doing their job, which is to exist in nature.”
For the most part, the kids understand my rule, but from time to time, things sneak into a pocket without my knowledge. Once, when Owen was five or six, we discovered after I washed and dried his swim trunks that Owen thought he was bringing home rocks, but they were actually chunks of tar. (Santa Barabra naturally has tar on its beaches) We spent weeks pulling tarballs off of our clothes. His favorite Batman shirt didn't make it.
My take nothing philosophy is simple: Whatever you find in the sand will never be as beautiful as when you found it. The gleam you see when you are breathing the salt air, running free in the waves, hearing the sounds of the gulls and the laughter of the people you love, all together with eyes looking into the world rather than into a screen, will be gone. The moment you take that cool rock with the white ribbon through it, or the abalone shell with the iridescent inside off the beach, it will lose its luster.
…
When Nick and I were first dating, we took a road trip along the famous Highway 1, and there, in the more than three hundred miles between Santa Barbara and San Francisco, I fell in love with Nick.
We stopped at Jade Beach in Big Sur and hiked the rocky shore. I won’t say he was obsessed, but Nick was oddly into the jade rocks we found on the beach. He came home with more than a dozen, and it struck me as funny that this very practical man was so interested in these rocks.
…
Years later, I understand… The magic is in the present moment.
It’s the day you fell in love with your future wife, the day your oldest son scrunched up his feet when he first touched the sand, the day you turned a long piece of kelp into a jump rope with your daughter, the day you brought your 7-month-old to a favorite secluded beach while the older ones build sand castles.
It’s the moment that gives meaning to the thing and not the other way around.
Of course, I break my own rules. I have a perfectly smooth heart-shaped rock with a hole filled with tar, and I allow the kids to collect sea glass. The rock I use to meditate and that glass is kept in a candle holder in the living room.
The last time we were at the beach, I told Nick, “When the last one goes to college, we should make something out of this glass.” Then he said, “Why does there have to be a last one?”
This is where I am today. Thank you for listening.
xoxo,
Emily
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On the Blog & Elsewhere
This week I published a blog post for NaNoWriMo!
Five Tips for Memoir Writing When the Words Feel Too Hot to Touch
Links to Ponder
re-imagine social media (The Washington Post)
What I learned about America at 3 miles per hour (The Washington Post)
How “live, laugh, love” took over your home (The Washington Post)
If you only have time for one thing… A one-of-a-kind, all-inclusive playground will be built in Santa Barbara, and Aiden will be a part of the founder’s wall!
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