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The day was nearing five o’clock. Crimson and orange set aflame the sky, and shadows of passersby grew longer. The sand glistened with the ebb of the tide. A northern wind blew crisp upon my face; its coldness burned my throat. And the formidable and vast Pacific bared its teeth at us all—its whitecaps daunting and unwelcoming.
It was Sunday, Valentine’s Day. I left my father’s side, a few paces ahead of him with my camera in hand. Facing the ocean, I looked both ways down Cannon Beach. Children played and ran from the tide, couples sauntered hand-in-hand, families stood together, friends gathered with kites, Frisbees and footballs, and dogs ran in between them all. There were hundreds of people, but still so much space and open beach to move and to be free.
Mesmerized by the ebb and flow of the ocean, I felt small and unseen as I looked down the beach. How the fierce waves seemed alive—how they inhaled, and with a deafening boom crashed loudly, and rushed toward their unsuspecting prey on the sands. Watching the fragile beings that moved along the water’s edge, none seemed to notice the lurking power from the West.
As the Pacific crept upon the shore, it flowed in steadily and evenly. Unlike the waves that roared and swelled further out, this creeping water was smooth and welcoming. Enchanted, I felt lured—if only to let my toes be touched. But then slowly the ocean pulled back, and then more quickly it retreated, until suddenly with great urgency and purpose, the waters rushed back out to sea, sucked into unknown depths.
The receding waters seemed to bubble and gurgle, as if they had gotten what they wanted. But what did these waters take from us? Caught in the moment, I hadn’t noticed that my father was at my side. The waves, they drowned out any noise that might be, and I could just hear him as he said,
“Look at all these people. But you can’t hear a single person over the pounding waves. It’s as if the sound of the ocean is the noise of their worries, their stress, and fears. As if the waves take these heavy thoughts from them. Even if just for today, they are free from their realities. Here, they get to forget and be carefree.”
I looked at these people with this thought in mind. It was true. The powerful sound of the ocean seemed to be the same weight and force of our worries being taken out to sea. Everything else, but the swells and thrashing of the sea, was calm and in a state of silent reverie.
And then without notice, a feeling expanded in my chest, the cold sea air rushed in and I held my breath. I felt light, almost as if I wasn’t there, and weak as I tried to grasp for something that was already slipping away.
How can I begin to describe this emotion—there may be no better way than to describe it with a question: Do you ever find yourself, all of a sudden, yearning for the very moment that you’re in? Wishing for that moment to go on until you’re ready to move on? That’s how I felt—I didn’t want to move from that beach or that moment. Still present in that moment, but knowing that hour would soon pass, I already missed it. I yearned for it to stay as it was.
This wasn’t nostalgia or déjà-vu. But, perhaps this feeling is better described as the deepest meaning of what it means to “live in the moment.” Only rarely have I felt this deep longing. In a way, it is a sad feeling, yet there is a peace that lingers on from it.
I don’t know what you may take from this story just told, but if anything, may it be a simple reminder to enjoy the present—to live each single moment as you can—and to enjoy the feelings of these moments.
