The Color of Nothing

I forgot how much I love the beach.  As luck would have it, we became reacquainted recently.  Five days of warm sun and beautiful sky and sandgasms. 

 
Most mornings it was easy to just be quietly in the moment -- me, a bunch of gulls and a runner or two.  Oh, and one special day there was an enormous guy in a Speedo.  I think he might be what they mean when they say that certain things can't be unseen.  But I digress.

I discovered some incredibly amazing white shells.  I don't remember ever seeing these before; so perfect, pure and brilliantly white.  I'm sure they were here last year when I stood on this same shore, in this same spot, watching these same waves spill onto the beach.  Funny how you just don’t see some things until you are ready to see them.  This is true of shells and other things.

Our feelings can blind us in relationships, especially the most intimate ones.  We see only what we want to see, hear only what we want to hear, until the time comes when it’s time to notice something we didn’t before.  Sometimes it’s a sweet surprise and other times it’s a brutal reality.  Either way it’s unexpected, and yet it was right there the whole time. 

I became fascinated with these shells while I walked in the surf, watching coral and rocks spilling onto the sand.  Every few minutes one of them came into view, easy to spot because they were so bright.  They were plain and small, but their beauty was in their color. They were the color of everything or the color of nothing, I suppose. 

I started collecting them, catching them one by one as the waves crashed over my feet.  It was harder than it looked.  The tide was so strong and fast it was easy to spot them below the surface, but they were gone before I could act.  Sometimes wanting is one thing, and having is another.   This is true of shells and other things.

We have expectations of each other that we don’t even realize.  Since we’re unaware they exist, the unrealistic ones stay hidden until something goes horribly wrong.  In relationships, it’s the wanting that gets us in trouble.  Our expectations are disappointments waiting to be unleashed.  If we can just BE, putting ourselves in the same moment at the same time, we see things most clearly.   

Catching the shells was a game I played with the ocean that week.  I had to wait until it chose to give up the things I wanted.  I acted like I didn't really care about them, pretending that I didn't need the things that I HAD to have but were out of my reach.  Funny thing, pretending.  After a time I stopped trying so hard, and the tide came in and those white shells were scattered everywhere. 

Over a hundred of them sit in a glass container in my room.  They are a reminder to open my eyes to what’s right in front of me; a reminder to be patient, to expect less, and to trade wanting for the pure joy of being.   What I need comes to me over and over in its own time, not mine.