The Going Out and the Coming In

“I read and walked for miles at night along the beach, writing bad blank verse and searching endlessly for someone wonderful who would step out of the darkness and change my life. It never crossed my mind that that person could be me.” – Anna Quindlen.

The quote spoke to me this morning. Why? Because for some time now, I’ve been drawn to the ocean. I desire to sit on the beach and stare out.

It’s odd because I’ve always been more of a mountain person—hated the beach, refuse to wear a swimsuit now, hate the grains of sand that get between my toes and stick to my feet. I still have sand in my suitcase from my trip to the Oregon coast four years ago. But . . .

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For some reason, I need to sit in the sand at the point it touches vast lonely waters and let the waves roll in and wet my toes. I need to hear the sound of the crashing sea. I need some deep sand thinking, I need some reflection, I need to be in tune with my world and my God. And I need to see His truths there. I need a balance.

I think I need that after loss. I don’t deal well with change, and I’m tired of death, the most recent being my sixteen-year-old dog. It has always haunted me how I can stand on a beach and leave my footprint there, and then a wave comes in and smooths out the wet sand, and there’s no sign of the print. I don’t want my life to be that way. I don’t want the lives of my loves to be that way.

I want to sit and look out at a cerulean sky and feel the water cold on my toes and watch it roll out toward a distant horizon. But I need to wait for the second act. Because the water comes back in. Life takes away; life brings the new. I need to see the going out and the coming in.

I need the coming in to offset the going out. I need balance.

It’s at that point when I recognize that people, or pets, come into my life for a time and then go out, and it is not the end, but a beginning, and I must welcome the new and live and look forward and onward in the time I’m allotted, that growth and contentment and joy occur.

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One day soon I just might pack away in Sweet Madeleine the Outback, hop on that ribbon of 65 highway, and head south to the white sands and blue waters and sit there where the going out meets the coming in for hours and hours and stare out and breathe in the waves and then breathe them out, and find me anew.

Anna Quindlen also said that I am the only person alive who has sole custody of my life.

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