Beach Walking as a Metaphor (or not)
So this evening I decided to once again take advantage of the fact that it is summer here, and I am staying mere blocks away from a very nice beach. I wanted to walk from one end of the shore to the other, with the goal of catching a nice sunset in the process. So with my mp3 player in my ears, and shoes in hand, I set out. At first it was quite ideal. Tepid water lapping at my feet over smooth, soft sand. The stuff postcards are made of. Then there were piles of seaweed here and there which I skirted, then dodged, then found myself hopping over. See, wimpy confession here: Ever since I was a kid I’ve hated the feel of seaweed. It’s just… icky. But soon enough there were just piles upon piles of seaweed. So eventually I was just walking over a carpet of it. Then came the rough bit. The part of the shore that was more pebbles and broken shells than sand. I thought to turn back, but, no, I wanted to get to the other end. So I braved my way through it (wincing now and then, I admit.) However it is on this part of the beach that I did find a couple of truly lovely, intact shells, which I washed off and pocketed when they dried.
Finally I was at the other end. Triumph. Perhaps it was the music in my ears making a sort of soundtrack, but I was struck by brilliance. This walk along the shore was a metaphor for life. Easy at first, then dodging the icky stuff, until there was no choice but to wade through the icky stuff. And then the rough stuff. The painful stuff. To come out on the other side. Inspired, I spotted the rocks rising up out of the coast. The rugged, huge rocks made smooth by the surf. I was going to climb those rocks to overlook the sea. It would be representative of my ultimate victory. So I started my climb. Cautiously, but with no intent of backing down. I managed via some wobbly stepping stones to make it. Such satisfaction. This was surely representative of what would ultimately be my victory in this life.
I stood there for a while. Watching the last rays of the sun disappear. As the last stragglers on the beach departed. As the waves began to get stronger… wait. The tide was coming in. As it was getting dark. And my stepping stones had… disappeared?
No problem. I was victorious after all. I managed to feel my way with my feet, wading into the water just a bit as I did so, trying to find my path back to shore. And just as I was one step away from the big rock closest to shore… I fell.
So much for victory.
I did manage to catch myself with my hands before falling face first into the rocks. And I did manage to keep myself from falling into the water. And I did manage to keep hold of both my shoes and my bag in the process. Not only that, the shells I found earlier were still intact in my pocket.
So perhaps victorious after all?
I did stub my toes, but could still wiggle them so nothing serious. Though a couple did begin to swell immediately and I figured I ought to head back to the hotel while I could still walk.
Leaving the beach, I realized the neighborhood wasn’t familiar. See in my quest to get to the other side, I didn’t think that the path to and from the other side of the beach might come out on the other end of town from my hotel.
Oops.
So I started walking in the direction of my hotel. And walking. And walking. And then, as my toes’ swelling became more prominent, limping. Hoping I was going in the right direction at least! Hoping I wasn’t limping through a bad neighborhood.
I made it back. Obviously.
At first I laughed at myself and my silly notion of a beach walk as a metaphor for life. I figured that the fall was a higher power’s way of saying “Ha ha, you fool.”
But then I started thinking. Maybe the important part wasn’t the walk. Or the fall. But rather the walk back to the hotel. Lost. Limping. But continuing to move forward until I arrived. Maybe that’s really what life is all about.
Or maybe it was just the result of being utterly ridiculous in thinking that scaling slippery rocks on a strange beach at night with no one around was a good idea.
Retail Therapy
I’m a firm believer in the need for balance in one’s life. And that extends to one’s blog — or at least my blog. Therefore while I was considering sharing some realizations I came to through the course of my day yesterday, I’ve decided to instead opt for a lighter topic — namely my latest product obsessions.
I am a dream consumer. If I find something I like, I will not only buy it, but buy multiple quantities of it, and extol the virtues of said product to everyone who will listen. That said, I don’t do so broadly — a product has to really impress me.
Right before Christmas, I experienced the joy that is Jo Malone products. It came about because I ended up having to kill about 5 hours in Heathrow Airport, ended up playing in her store there (with the help of an enthusiastic sales associate!) and voila, I ended up spending way too much money on fragrance. Still, despite the expense, I find her products totally worth it. How cool is it to mix your own signature fragrance? And the quality of her products are top notch. (By the way, my signature fragrance? A combination of Amber & Lavender and Nutmeg & Ginger. I’m a spicy sort of gal. Though it is entirely possible I’ll decide to revisit this combo once the warmer weather months hit.)
Now my latest beauty/cosmetic obsession appeals to a different side of me. While Jo Malone appeals to my sense of class and extravagance, Lush appeals to the rock chic within. I think of it as sort of a cooler, more modern, edgier Body Shop. The products are unique, all natural, and cleverly packaged. The product descriptions were fab. I think my favorite was “Goth Juice”, a hair gel that claimed to contain the essential ingredient of the tears of Robert Smith (how I loved him once upon a time!) There seems to be a real emphasis on making your shopping experience an interactive one. (I got a great hand massage from the young man who asked to demo a scrub on me, which was just lovely and not weird at all.) The product names are delicious too. Who can resist the thought of Angels on Bare Skin? Or Silky Underwear? Textures are varied and unique too, which is great for those of us who like to touch everything and appreciate a tactile experience. The online store is fun, but if you have an opportunity, check out one of their retail locations in person. I haven’t had so much fun since I discovered my first Sephora store.
Finally, I resisted the trend for quite some time and swore I wouldn’t give in, but after several days of wearing shoes that destroyed my feet, and knowing I had much more walking time ahead of me, both by necessity and by preference, I broke down and bought a pair of crocs. However, I did not buy the clog looking ones (which I’m sure are quite comfortable, however there would be no way I could get away with wearing them for business meetings). I bought a pair of cleos which really do resemble a pair of simple strappy sandals. And oh my gosh my feet are happy. I finally “get it”. The appeal, that is. I feel as though I could walk for twice as long with these babies on my feet, and find an extra spring in my step. Happy feet make a happy girl. I admit it, I’m a crocs convert. And aside from the fact that these are the most comfortable shoes ever while still looking pretty cute, I love the fact that crocs is a company with a conscience. So I actually feel good about spending money on them (even if they were significantly more expensive in Australia with the current exchange rate than they are in the US.) So I guess this is my formal apology for any former disdain for crocs. Any company that makes shoes for the purpose of happy feet while having a social conscience and actively participating in bettering communities around the world is a company that gets not only my business but is worthy of my shouting from the rooftops how much they rock.
Contemplating the thrill of it all
So, yeah, I’ve been a slacker with the whole blogging thing. Part of it is that there isn’t much to report. But part of that is because I haven’t found it in me to contemplate much lately. And contemplation seems to go hand in hand with blogging, at least for me. Why the lack of contemplation? In a nutshell, fear. Who knows what thoughts will rise to the surface if one gives them a chance to do so.
That said, I managed to do some long overdue contemplation today, which I will attempt to put into some kind of cohesive form — no promises though. Overdue contemplation leads to an overload of thoughts and emotions that seem to both flow freely and jumble together all at the same time.
I spent most of my day here. 
This is, in my opinion, one of the best beaches in the world. It’s not so much about the sand and the surf, though they are fantastic, but the whole atmosphere of the place. A resort town where shoes are optional, people walk everywhere, and there is so much to see around every corner from eclectic little shops to musicians in the streets. Strangely enough, halfway around the world, there is something about it that feels very right to me — like in some strange way I am home. Or at least at home in some alternate universe.
So after having a good wander around the town and taking a long walk along the shore, I found myself sitting in the sand. I watched the families playing in the breaking waves. The lovers walking hand in hand along the beach. The birds (which were more attractive than any seagulls I ever see at home) fluttering here and there in search of food. The surfers way back in the ocean, seemingly watching over it all, occasionally gliding toward the shore only to paddle back out to the depths. And there was a little girl in a pink tutu. She was there with her mother and two older sisters, and clearly the free spirit. Chasing after the birds. Splashing into the surf, just a little bit deeper than the others. Plopping down in the sand and letting handfuls of it run through her fingers. I found myself envious of the little girl in the pink tutu. I wished to feel that free, that alive.
I watched the sunburned tourists pack up their gear and head back to their hotels, reminding me that this primarily a holiday town. For some reason I heard my parents’ voice reminding me that this isn’t real life.
But as i watched the sun set over the blue waters, I thought to myself “Why can’t this be real life?” Why must “real life” consist of drudgery and entrapment? Why can’t real life be as free as the little girl in the pink tutu? Why shouldn’t there be joy and wonder in every day life?
Is it so crazy to wish for a real life that entails all of this?
I thought of a quote I saw somewhere: “Life isn’t about finding yourself, but creating yourself.”
I guess this means that if this is the reality I want, I’m the only one who can make that happen. And that’s quite a terrifying thought. I’m the one who needs to figure out how to get from point A to point B. I’m the only one who can do it. And I won’t have any guidelines or roadmaps to help me do so.
The dangers of contemplation. Realizations may be more terrifying than anything.
As day turned to evening, I wandered back to catch the ferry back to Sydney. Thinking about these things. Thinking about the last time I was in this part of the world. More specifically when I came home from this part of the world only to have the bomb dropped and my marriage and life as I knew it shattering into pieces. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Yet I couldn’t help but remember who I was then, and compare it to who I am now, the good and the bad. And as I sat on the deck of the ferry with my feet propped up on the railing, looking up at the moon, a light rain began to fall. I felt the cool droplets on my face, mixing with the hot tears that had somehow escaped from my eyes without my noticing. Cleansing. Refreshing. Washing away regrets. Preparing me for something new. While listening to the lyrics of the song playing on my mp3 player. And perhaps really understanding them for the first time:
It’s a secret no one tells;
One day it’s heaven, one day it’s hell.
It’s no fairy tale;
Take it from me,
That’s the way it’s supposed to be.
You will fly and you will crawl;
God knows even angels fall.
No such thing as you lost it all.
God knows even angels fall.
You laugh, you cry, no one knows why
Behold the thrill of it all…
You’re on the ride
You might as well
Open your eyes…
