The Smooth Seashells

“Constant dripping hollows out a stone.” ~ Lucretius


While I was cooking dinner last night, my daughter brought in the kitchen a small bag of seashells we found at the beach the past summer. She emptied the sack on the table and lined up the shells, largest to smallest. When I looked at the display, I noticed she had three large shells and several smaller ones, but while the little shells were mostly intact and still quite sharp at the edges, the larger shells were smooth and worn out, some of them missing parts.

I asked my daughter her opinion as to why the bigger shells were either broken or smooth at the edges, and her reply was instantaneous – the larger ones were thrown around with more force by the waves. Intrigued by her reply, I asked her why the waves would be harder on the larger shells, and her response to this question was that when something is small the wave takes it away, while “big things” stay where they are and the waves crash against them. That said, something else caught her attention and she left the kitchen. Of course, she also left me with a little food for thought.

Was she correct? Did the big shells get damaged more because they resisted the waves? Maybe, going along with the random and brilliant thinking trail only children can follow, Morgan had hit on something real.

To test her theory, I went into the backyard to the little stream that runs behind our house and looked at the rocks on the bed – the small ones had sharp edges, while the larger ones were smooth and hollow in spots where the water constantly trickles.

The rocks small enough to move with the water during a storm were only scattered around and not damaged, while the larger ones – too heavy to be moved but by a great volume of water – rested in place and could not escape the damage.

When we move with the flow, although we might feel scattered to the four winds and unable to maintain a steady ground, we are likely to come out of the storm unscathed – flexibility allows us to come through in one piece. On the contrary, when we are too stubborn to move, and we stand our ground even when the current pushes against us, we cannot avoid coming out of the storm with at least some visible damage.

Structures and mindsets that don’t allow room for change are doomed to fail, and it will be only a matter of time before even an apparently harmless trickle of opposing energy will carve a hole in their foundations.

I went back inside and carried a couple of those rocks with me to show my daughter, but mostly to remind myself that fluid thinking and wave-riding can be priceless tools we can’t afford to walk into the future without.

The Sea and the Butterfly

The view that awaited us when we arrived at our rental house in Carolina Beach, this past week, was beyond our expectations: Waves were madly crashing on shore, their white foam proudly painting the sand beneath them in a primal, rhythmic stroke, while small formations of seagulls and pelicans gracefully glided in the salty air, the brilliant colors of their plumage creating a stark contrast against the deep blue hue of the sky.
I was thrilled to get out of bed in the morning, and savor a bit more of the breathtaking scene. Coffee mug in one hand and a good novel in the other, I would sit on the deck until the rest of my family woke up. Some mornings I even got up early enough to see the newborn sun rise in the east.
A week later, it was time to leave our corner of Paradise and head back home.
This morning, when I shook myself from the delightful grip of slumber, I thought for a moment that I was still in Carolina Beach. Then, as the needle of reality quickly pierced through the cloth of consciousness, and I realized I was back home, my eagerness to get out of bed diminished by the minute. I wearily made my way down the stairs and peaked out through the glass pane of the front door, on my way to the kitchen to get coffee.
No sound of crashing waves this morning, no calls from seagulls, or children squealing on the beach; the only call I heard was that of my cat, indignantly meowing at the back door, waiting to be fed. Ditto for the visual: all I could see was my neighbor’s house, which, as beautiful and well maintained as it is, is certainly no match to a roaring ocean.
I took my coffee outside on the porch and sat on one of the rocking chairs, wishing I could turn back time. Then, I noticed two small birds sitting side by side on a tree branch, their colorful lemon feathers breaking the monotony of the green leaves; and I noticed a butterfly stopping on one of my flower pots. Suddenly, I realized the subtle beauty surrounding me. I took a sip of my coffee and smiled when my cat, tired of waiting by the back door, came around to the front porch and was now rubbing against my legs, purring softly. Maybe my quiet yard is not blessed with the raw charm of an ocean scene, but it is beautiful just the same.
I thought of all the beauty which surrounds us at all times, the beauty that we don’t notice.
Sadly, we have been programmed to think that beauty is something that we have to travel far to see, or something that has a price tag attached. We rarely notice that some of the most beautiful things are free and abundant, if only we are willing to see them.
True beauty is not in the engineered perfection of a plastic doll made in Hollywood; it is not only in the expensive flower bouquet we purchase at a florist’s fancy store.
True beauty is the smile of a stranger; is the wild flower growing on the side of the freeway; is the less-than-perfect art project of a child who worked as hard as he could to create a small masterpiece for his mother.
All we need to do is allow ourselves to open our eyes to the myriad of magnificent displays of beauty and perfection that subtly color our day from the sidelines.
As the soft fur of my cat gently tickles my feet, and the gentle breeze coming from the open window softly broadcasts the nocturnal song of the nearby woods, while I sit here writing, I know I am thrilled to be back home.