I Found a Stick

Sunday.

I pushed myself out the door this morning. So glad I did.

I knew I needed the beach, but wasn’t sure how much time I would have or how far I would go.

I have a favorite walking route where I wind my way north along the long exercise path above the beach and at an opportune opening, I climb down a rocky, dirt-filled cliff to get to the beach, and then head back along the sea's edge. 

As usual, I was alone on the beach and passed only 2 or 3-morning beach walkers. I took off my socks and sneakers to enjoy the feel of the sand and cool sea water on my feet. As I walked along, listening to a meditative Audible book, I found pieces of green polished sea glass and perfect soft stones and dropped them in my bag.

The tide seemed to be going out, so there were open spaces of hard-packed untouched sand, which usually leads my mind to start looking for a stick so I can draw in the sand.

I continued walking and there it was. I found the stick. 

My sand drawing is never purposeful. I allow myself to take the stick in my hand and begin to draw in the sand in whatever direction it wants to go.

Honestly, I could keep going, drawing forever in the sand. Usually, there’s always a time limit. An appointment I need to get home for or an errand I need to run. I do believe that if I allowed myself unlimited time, I would keep going, filling the entire beach until I got tired or hungry or the sun went down.

Today I needed to get home because I thought I had an appointment. I “completed” my sand drawing, pushed the stick into the sand, and stepped back to admire my work.

I smiled and took a picture. Undecided if I would post it.

Then, continuing to walk south, toward the busy public beach, I passed an elderly man walking the other way. I nodded and wished him a good morning, but he did not respond. When he was a short distance passed me, I turned around to see if he noticed my drawing in the sand. I watched for a few minutes, making up the story in my mind that he would see it, and look back to see if I was the one who drew it. We would make eye contact and he would give me a thumbs up. 

Instead, he walked right passed the drawing, without even noticing it.

I turned to continue my walk and instantly recognized a pang of disappointment. A pang of not being seen, and of not being recognized or given positive reinforcement.

I immediately sat down in the sand and journaled:

I found a stick. 

As I was drawing, I thought about taking a picture and sharing it. There are many other sand drawings I have taken pictures of and haven’t shared, just to test myself. This time I really felt that test. 

If no one sees my drawing and I don't get recognized for it, did I do it? 

Do I still enjoy it? 

Does the drawing itself have value? 

Does my act of drawing have value? 

Does the creative act of drawing have value in and of itself? Just the fact that I wanted to be creative and then drew?

Why did I draw it? 

Does it matter if no one can tell me they saw it?

This time I took a picture to capture the drawing for myself. So I can remember for myself. 

But what if I didn’t even do that. What if I didn’t take a picture so I can look back and remember. 

What if I just drew. And felt the feeling in the moment and in my body when I am drawing. Enjoying the process just for myself - at that moment. Could I do that?

What if I drew. No picture. Grounded the experience and process in my body. And moved on. 

What if that’s what I did?

What if that’s all I did?

So, I found a stick.

And I drew.

And it felt different.

I asked myself many new questions. Many questions that at the moment have unknown or uncomfortable answers.

I think about how social media has changed the process of creating for me, just to create.

I think about how my craving for positive reinforcement has changed my deep need to be seen.

Where do I find the balance between being seen and acknowledged, and just being?

And then what about my knowing existentially that I exist and have value.

With or without being seen?

I am posting the picture now to share my experience. 

So that maybe someone else can relate to these feelings. 

Maybe that’s the balance.

When the sharing is done in order to let others know that I see them too.

Maybe?

Does it have to be purposeful? It’s a process.

I found a stick.