I am standing at a familiar precipice.
Elizabeth McDonough© 2023
All rights reserved. No part of this zine may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means without the permission of it’s creator, Elizabeth McDonough.
For my Mother, whose selflessness, depth of feeling, and love of the sea made me who I am — and who I once heard say, “It’s not really suffering, it’s just surviving.”
I am standing at a familiar precipice.
I have written these words down, or some version of them, several times over the past year. I am sentimental about almost everything, but especially the view from here. I know what comes next. In life you learn to embrace necessary moments of transition — moments when you willingly leave something behind in pursuit of the next. It is a bittersweet feeling that pulls out slow like the tide. You can feel its tow as it gains momentum, and then crashes down without recourse.
When you come up for air, you’re caught between one life and the next -- looking forward while reflecting back, trying to catch your breath while savoring your vantage point.
With one chapter closing and another on the horizon, there are endless futures to imagine, opportunities to consider, worlds to paint. But you cannot tread water for very long -- the waves are rolling in. You have to choose a direction, and you have to swim.
Once you have chosen your direction, claustrophobia often ensues. You begin living with the realization that you have, in some ways, eliminated other potential destinations -- alternate versions of your life.
And no doubt there will be times when you feel dissatisfied with the string of choices that led you where you are -- actively isolating moments in your mind and declaring them culprits of your dolor. “Life would be better,” you’ll think, “if I had only gone left instead of right.”
Those thoughts will swallow you whole. Do not surrender to them. It’s an inevitable fact that we can’t often discern the weight of our decisions until long after they’ve passed -- some reap joy and fulfillment, while others leave us wrought with regret.
And time passes just the same.
This is where I have found myself -contemplating the gravity of my decisions whilst standing toe to toe with the ebbing tide. My heart aches, my head aches. I am increasingly aware of the fragility of life -- it’s omnipresent brevity hinged upon the depth of one’s perception.
As I look to the ocean I see my soul reflected back. A force that crashes head first into its targets, all whilst pulling back and forth with the uncertainty of a pendulum. Made whole by the presence of small acts juxtaposed with grandiose, sweeping movements -- often at odds with each other.
How does one balance the dichotomy of their own mind?
As I walk the beach my hands are full -clutching onto bits of shell and rock and sea glass, checking on them ever so often to ensure nothing has slipped out. I am consumed by the hunt -- eager to find something of equal or greater value than the day before. It’s so easy to be consumed by the wrong things.
If I could keep my head up, eyes on the horizon, I would move at a more reliable pace and reach my destination as planned.
Alas, I get distracted. I look down, I look back -- afraid I may have missed something. I stop, inspect, turn around, retrace my steps. I move erratically without a clear sense of direction, along a path forged by fierce intuition. Not unlike the way I have navigated my life.
From afar, one would likely presume that I am wandering aimlessly -- and yet, there’s an acute sense of purpose guiding this waltz.
I observe my treasures and I can’t help but wonder, what are they for? If one were to find handfuls of precious things every time they visited the sea, then how precious are they, really?
Perhaps what I enjoy most is that each piece stands independent and defiant without saying a word. You cannot argue with the form and purpose of a luminous mussel shell -- with it’s visible fissures and fractures inferring how tumultuous a journey it had before reaching your hands.
I am envious -- what a gift to quietly express who you are without anyone requiring an explanation -- a life sans rebuttal!
My mind moves to consider how we all face the same struggles, stressors, and oppressors that have always been. We still yearn for simplicity -- the benefits of silence, solitude, and reverie. Pleasures not often afforded in the chaos and cacophony of our everyday lives.
Further, each of us is united in mourning. We will all, at one point or another, find ourselves mangled by the shear force of hindsight. Tortured by the agonizing reality that our pain is our own doing.
Perhaps that’s why it’s impossible to keep our eyes on the horizon -- we must look back, check underfoot, else we are doomed to repeat our sins.
I consider these truths from my vantage point, my beach, and my sea. The latter is a formidable muse -- ripe with metaphors related to life’s challenges, easily understood when cast through the lens of a stroll along the beach.
Free your hands and empty your pockets. Look to the horizon, and walk with conviction.
