Sea Glass

Sea Glass

We keep going back to the rocky beach,

searching for the glint of sea glass—

the white, the green, the rarest blue.

It takes decades to smooth out the sharp

edges of those shards, years of helpless

turning in the tides, so we might then

reach down, slip one into our pocket

and run fingers over the worn surface

when worry takes over a quiet mind.

We too have been tumbled by the waves

of life, and with each passing year, I feel

my own edges buffed and polished so I

might slide more easily through the hours,

stop resisting the pull of whatever ocean

I’m in. Once, I wanted to be the shimmering

bottle, container to hold the whole world

impossibly inside myself, but now I just want

to be the piece of beauty you come upon

in an otherwise calm moment, cradled

by the endless sea crashing at your feet.

My husband and I are helpless beachcombers. Each time we vacation near the ocean, we end up kneeling in sand or rocks, digging and digging until we’ve amassed a pile of shells, pottery shards, and sea glass. It doesn’t matter that the jars and bowls of our treasure sit scattered around the house, gathering dust. We hunt and gather without a purpose, as a practice of mindfulness and play. The thrill comes in finding the sea glass especially, watching for the telltale glint as we walk. I think we enjoy the search so much because it causes us to pay attention to our surroundings in a way that we normally wouldn’t, which is of course the source of all wonder and awe. When caught in fear or worry, the most reliable cure I know is to focus outward, to lose myself in some physical, tangible act of attention. As Robin Wall Kimmerer has written, “Attention is the doorway to gratitude, the doorway to wonder, the doorway to reciprocity.” By focusing on the world around us, we give back to the world, and to ourselves in the process.

I keep pieces of sea glass in my pocket for this very reason, especially if I know I’m going to be in a situation that causes anxiety. When I feel my heart leaping and heat spreading through my chest, I can reach down, run a finger along those buffed and polished edges. My whole nervous system calms down. Sea glass also reminds me of all the ways I’ve been smoothed by the pull of whatever ocean I’m in, by the helpless passage of time. Holding a piece of it in my palm, I feel awe at how I’ve grown softer over the years with myself and others, able to send more compassion inward and outward, too. Having written seriously for several decades now, my ambition has shifted from wanting to absorb and hold the entirety of the world inside myself to simply staying awake to the wonder of how things are. My only hope as both writer and human is to be a part of something much larger than myself. Let the waves toss me, if they must. But let me also trust that I will be carried wherever I need to go in the process, polished down to my most essential self.

Invitation for Writing & Reflection: Do you gather or collect some natural reminder of the ways in which we are all a part of this larger, wondrous world? How does the act of searching and finding unfold for you, and why does it bring you joy?