I’ve been out walking this week. Not in exotic locales or even for exercise (although I know I should), but just to walk. And as I walk on the well worn paths, places where my bare feet already know the way and the waves toss rocks until they are smooth and round, my thoughts wander and the muscles in my shoulders relax.
There is something indefinable that happens when my feet move, my arms swing, the wind brushes my hair away from my face, and the sun warms my shoulders. This movement–not aimed at getting me from one place to another or to raise my heart rate–engages my body and lets my brain disconnect from the worries and demands of everyday life. I start to notice details of the world around me, details that I miss when I’m focused on getting there for a meeting or staying here to complete this paperwork.
Today I noticed all the children on the beach who are attending camps: volleyball camps, surf camps, and the local staple–junior lifeguards. I found myself thinking about the job opportunities for young people that are available because of those camps as I watched young adults (or almost adults) mentoring younger children. I also wondered about the kids who don’t have access to these camps and who may not see this public beach as their place. What does summer look like for kids whose parents can’t afford camps like these or who don’t have the luxury of dropping their kids off at 9 and picking them up at noon?
And I thought about privilege as I looked up at the sea cliffs above this magnificent beach where I walk. Perched at the top are multimillion dollar homes with expanses of windows facing the sea. If you look closely, you’ll notice the stairs criss-crossing the cliff face. Exclusive access to the public beach below. I am grateful that the beach is public, regardless of who lives on the cliff above.
There were lots of seabirds today. The seagulls are regulars, they hang out at the beach all the time. (I’ve written about them a lot, see this post.) Feeling a shadow overhead, I looked up to see graceful pelicans flying in formation. My husband calls them bombardiers, they remind him of our military aircraft in precision flight. These birds are huge, but in flight they are agile and delicate. At one point I looked up and caught sight of a white and gray bird overhead. It took me a moment to realize that this bird was not a seagull. It was an osprey–also known as a sea eagle, with a whole fish in its talons, racing through the sky. I was riveted watching this elegant bird of prey, feeling fortunate that I had the opportunity to see it in action. I didn’t snap a photo, but I did enjoy the moment. And there are my friends–the sandpipers. I love their curved bills and high pitched whistles. They’re a bit shy and wary, making me appreciate them even more.
I walked for miles. And like this post, my thoughts meandered, pausing on a bird, on a child squealing with delight, on a surfer shredding through the break of the wave. The cool water contrasted with the warmth of the sun on my cheeks just like my observations of the seabirds contrasted with my awareness of issues of privilege and access present on this beach that I love. And even though I don’t have any ready answers, I left the beach with a clear head and sandy feet, refreshed and renewed ready to tackle whatever life throws my way.
I wonder what tomorrow’s walk will bring?