What the Sea Reminded Me

I recently spent a little time in Torquay.

Nothing particularly life-changing happened while I was there. I didn't have some great revelation or come home with all the answers.

I just spent some time by the sea.

And perhaps, sometimes, that's enough.

There is something about being near water that makes everything feel a little quieter.

The world doesn't stop, exactly. There are still people walking past, cars moving along the roads, conversations happening somewhere behind you. But when you sit beside the sea for long enough, those things seem to move further away.

You start to notice other things.

The sound of the waves.

The wind moving through your hair.

The way the light catches the water.

The little things you might normally walk straight past.

I think I've always found something comforting in nature because it doesn't ask you to be anything.

The sea doesn't care if you're having a good day.

The trees don't care if you've figured yourself out.

The sky doesn't ask you what your five-year plan is.

Everything simply exists as it is.

And maybe that's what I needed.

A little space to just be

I think we spend so much of our lives trying to become.

Becoming better.

Becoming happier.

Becoming more successful.

Becoming the person we think we're supposed to be.

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if we spent a little more time simply being.

Being tired.

Being uncertain.

Being in-between.

Being someone who hasn't quite figured it all out yet.

Nature has a funny way of reminding us that there is nothing wrong with being in a season of change.

Trees lose their leaves.

Flowers disappear and return.

The tide comes in and goes back out again.

Nothing stays exactly the same.

And yet, we don't look at a changing landscape and assume it has lost its identity.

We understand that change is part of it.

Perhaps we could offer ourselves the same grace.

The things I noticed

In Torquay, I found myself taking photographs of things I probably wouldn't have noticed on an ordinary day.

The shapes of the rocks.

The colours of the water.

A flower growing somewhere it probably wasn't supposed to.

The horizon stretching further than I could see.

Little moments that didn't need to become anything.

They could simply be noticed.

And I think there is something healing about that.

Not everything needs to be productive.

Not every moment needs to become a memory worth documenting.

Not every thought needs an answer.

Sometimes you can just stand beside the sea and watch it move.

Coming back to yourself

Maybe that's why I write so much about finding your way back to yourself.

Because I don't think we lose ourselves all at once.

Sometimes it happens slowly.

Through growing up.

Through grief.

Through anxiety.

Through trying to fit into places that don't quite feel like us.

Through becoming who other people expect us to be.

And sometimes finding yourself again isn't about discovering some completely new version of who you are.

Maybe it's about remembering.

Remembering what makes you feel alive.

Remembering what makes you feel calm.

Remembering the things you loved before you started worrying whether they were useful.

Remembering that you are allowed to change.

The sea didn't give me any answers in Torquay.

But it gave me a little space.

And sometimes space is where the answers begin to find us.

I came home still carrying the same questions I left with.

But perhaps I was carrying them a little more gently.

And maybe that's what nature does best.

It reminds us that we don't have to rush through every season.

We can pause.

We can breathe.

We can let the tide come in.

And we can let it go again.