Come High Tide

Two weeks ago, I was lounging on the shore of Cancun, Mexico, sundrenched with a mimosa in my hand. The sky was pure, sapphire blue, and somehow the ocean glistened even bluer. From my beach chair, I watched couples walk hand-in-hand down the coast. I saw children play in the sand, women in large hats reading books beneath straw thatched umbrellas. I watched them come and go as the sun began to slowly sink in the afternoon sky, until a man in his mid-thirties sat down on the beach and started to build a sandcastle.

The man took his time alone, building it up about knee-high. It laid on the sand a few feet wide, pretending to be a miniature stone fortress. It was actually quite impressive, intricate and layered all around with little tiers of notched sand. For a couple hours, he molded the sand in his hands with great care and you could tell it soothed him in some way; gave him a little dose of happiness. And when he was finished, he got up, clapped the sand from his hands, and he left. 

As I watched him walk away, it struck me as kind of beautiful. What a wonderful thing, to create something just because it's beautiful, even though it’s impermanent.

He sat in his chair for a while, and after some time, left the beach altogether, not worrying about his little creation or the time it took to make it. Hours later, a few little kids found the castle and realized the danger of the ocean’s licks. As the ocean slowly crept closer, inch by inch, they felt some sort of responsibility, some kind of purpose. And so they decided to build a wall in front of the castle they discovered and like mighty little white knights, they swore to defend it. The three children hurried, one digging furiously to gather sand, the others building and packing it tightly with their tiny hands, while keeping watch of the distance between them and their fierce, powerful enemy. The children built a wall even higher than the castle all around it to keep it safe. And eventually they too, had to leave the beach and its castle behind.

Still, from my beach chair, I thought what a beautiful thing that is: to protect something that’s not yours, to protect something that’s no one’s, just because it’s good. They built it knowing full well that come high tide, everything that had been created and protected would be washed away, and the ocean, the beach, and tomorrow’s sunbather’s wouldn’t know the difference.

And yet, they tried anyway.