Thursday, Jul. 27, 2006 8:15 p.m.

the other part of my day

my days are a combination of two different worlds, loosely connected by 90 minute commutes. when I am at one, I forget the other. and when I am at the other, I forget about the one.

this entry will be dedicated to the other.

there's this one magical moment each morning, where the reality of my existence, there, at that spot, stands out from every other moment. the bend in the road is perfect, and the way my eyes adjust and re-adjust to darkness of the tunnel and then light of the sun is like a curtain dropping and lifting, picking me up from the life of the freeway and depositing me in the afterlife of the beach.

this is how I arrive. this is where the 10 turns into the PCH. this is where my entire body awakens.

I roll down the windows and soak in the ocean smell. it reminds me of freedom, of existence beyond control. the ocean is. and exists, unchangeable by human hands. it has stood there since the beginning of time and every generation of humans have seen it the same as I see it today. and that comforts me.

my mind often stops during the day, for the briefest second, and double-checks to make sure this is real. that this is my job. kids are everywhere, hundreds of them. how many other kids have ran across this beach once upon a time? how many more will stand here in the future?

we used to use this word in songs in church, but this is a time I actually mean it: majesty. the power of water is majestic. I'm in there everyday, and the sense of awe has not worn off. I've learned to predict the waves, how they will hit my body, when they will crash, how powerful they will be. but even my predictions are uncertain. I never know til the wall of water hits me, pushing my body with sudden force, this way or that, or many ways at once. I surrender to it, allowing it to have me, take me where it wants, turn me around however it sees fit.

I know I will come back up. I always find air. I always break the surface, squealing and laughing as though I were a child again, as though I were every child again, being taken for a ride by a force I cannot control...and surviving it.

I haven't yet begun to appreciate the sand, every little grain that was once a rock, or a shell, or a piece of glass. each grain I step on, where has it been before? whose other feet has it touched? where has it traveled, riding on the back of the breaking waves? what form did it once take?

what about the seaweed that turns me squeamish as it brushes along my feet? what about the sandcrabs that I dig for and feel crawling across my toes as I sink my feet in?

I climb in my car at the end of the day, sweaty, smelly and sticky. sand in my hair, in my swimsuit, in my nails, on my feet. I am gross. but some part of me feels cleaner than ever. feels more alive than ever.

I stare at the car in front of me and note the license plates of all the cars around. I'll pass a few, they'll pass me, and none of us goes anywhere. my mind wanders, ponders questions I'll never remember the answers to. I listen to music, I listen to books on tape. I arrive home, sticky, sweaty and smelly and feel out of place.

I shower and I am clean. I do not remember the ocean. I remember my computer. I remember the fridge. I remember the quiet.

and then I sleep and do it all over again.

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