Recently, I’ve had a lot of
upheaval in my life. Moving halfway
across the country, leaving behind almost everyone and everything I knew, not
to mention quitting a career that has been my identity for nearly half my life.
Adjusting to my new
surroundings has been an ongoing process and this Saturday I decided I needed
some me time. What better place to clear
my head than a day at the beach? It was a beautiful sunny California day, perfect
swimsuit weather, which meant a long line of cars on the highway. I decided to steer clear of the more popular
spots and picked a place I had not tried before. From where I parked it looked
perfect. I could see less than 10 people and a wide expanse of pristine beach.
As I started down the trail with my polka dot beach bag and soy caramel
macchiato I felt supremely confident.
I soon found the path I
choose was incredibly difficult, nearly impossible and downright dangerous.
Scratches from the bramble adorned my bare legs. At times the brush was taller
than me and I had no idea if I was getting any closer to where I was meant to
be. Several times I thought about turning back, but then I would catch a
glimpse of the ocean waves and be spurned forward in my haste to reach the
shore. The view was deceptive. My goal seemed so close and the frustration I
felt at how long it was taking to get there was building until suddenly an
opening appeared and I was there.
Only when I reached my destination did I realize there was another more direct path. ‘Silly girl’, I thought and chalked it up to experience. At least the way out would be easy. The longer I sat enjoying the view though the more I began to notice something. People on that path were giving up halfway down. Scared by what lay ahead. Not trusting themselves to make it. Perhaps they decided to go to a more crowded beach with easier access. In my ignorance, I had just kept going until I found myself somewhere amazing. A place where I knew I belonged and never wanted to leave.
I wanted to cheer those that paused, looked around, assessed the obstacles and continued down the steep terrain. Maybe they had been here before. Maybe they just had a feeling it would be worth it. Maybe the ocean waves were calling their names and there was no option of turning back.
The journey out was intimidating. I understood why some people had simply turned around and left. There was a sharp nearly vertical incline at one point. A sturdy rope stood ready to assist. I got to the top only to find it was tied to a small shrub. Trust in the one who tied the knot. Trust in the roots that kept the shrub anchored. Trust I didn't know I needed, but was there all along. Trust that it will all work out.
I still have the wounds from
my journey and the memory of the difficulty times, but I wouldn’t trade the
outcome for anything. Isn’t that true of most worthy endeavors?
