can’t tell you how excited I was as I headed for the Ninth Street Bridge. I had
a day off and decided to take a trip to the beach. I drove across the bridge,
passing the visitors center, the fishing pier, and the exact spot where an enormous
American flag had hung on a construction vehicle high above the bay the summer
entered the city, parked my car, got out, and then backtracked wanting to be
sure I knew exactly where I’d left my vehicle when I returned to it later that
day. For a moment, a trash truck backing out of a driveway blocked my view. I
hurriedly walked around it and climbed the steps to the boardwalk where I saw
the sight I hadn’t seen in almost two years - the Atlantic Ocean stretched out
before me. I held my breath, taking in its beauty, and its breadth - its
steel-blue color, and the silver sheen the sun left on its surface.
the next couple of hours, I walked first along the boardwalk and then on the beach determined to exceed my daily 10,000 steps.
you okay?” a woman with a little girl asked as I got ready to jump back onto the sand.
“I am,” I said.
And I was.
Back up on the boardwalk, I was tempted by a sign featuring an enormous ice cream sundae. Knowing that to indulge would negate my 10,000 steps – today’s, yesterday’s, and tomorrow’s, I kept on walking.
lunch I headed back to my car aware that as beautiful as the ocean was, its
vastness had not done for me what it usually did. That is, it hadn’t caused me
to see myself and my problems as smaller and less consequential than
they seemed before I arrived.
maybe I thought, as I unlocked my car, I didn’t need the ocean for that. Maybe
the events of the last year – the virus that threatened everyone on this
earth - had already helped me to see how inconsequential I and my problems