This shot is looking over to the North Jetty and Bullard's Beach beyond and the one below is the Coquille River Lighthouse. Sometime soon I'll go and shoot the North Jetty/Bullard's, but for now, this is what saw when I walked up to the top of the South Jetty. So pretty!
I've been thinking about bravery in the last few weeks. I get told that I am brave quite a bit. I suppose that after a fashion I am... if the definition of bravery is being scared and acting anyway. I am moving on in my life after my husband's death, but don't feel very brave often, I'm scared a lot. Along with all the other stuff that happened, I lost my best friend in the world - the human I could tell anything to, and I miss him, but I have to keep going - right?
I don't feel very brave when I move forward in life. I feel resigned. I know I can't just say *here* because here doesn't exist. Much like the beach, here changes almost constantly. Stuff moves in and out like the sands and the trees and the tide... people, opportunities, etc.
Often, stuff doesn't work out the way you hope and sometimes your heart get squashed a bit, and sometimes it gets downright broken. I'm told it's brave to want to try again, to open yourself up to someone or something new. I don't know if it is, I don't know any other way. I'm not willing to hide away because it's painful. I know I take risks - I'm an adventuresome woman.
Sometimes I do stupid stuff because I've never gone that way before. The low tide was +3 feet today, and I like to walk at low tide, but I had not woken up early enough to meet it (and it was raining) so I went a few hours past the low, when the surf was making it's way up the beach. The moon was full a few days ago brought the tide up high and with it a lot of trees, and a lot of sand.
As I was walking, and (honestly) dodging the waves and sometimes stumps in the water I walked not quite half way down the beach and realized that this was probably unsafe for me. For all of it's beauty, this really wasn't safe to be out alone. If something happened, there'd be no way for me to get help enough in time and I could get hurt. I had a strong intuition that this was a possibility.
So, I packed up and started walking back up the beach. I'm reminded that even though taking a risk often feels safe to me, the road less travelled and all, it's maybe not the safest for everyone.
Like this cute little snowy plover, sometimes you get pretty battered, and it's safer to find a nest and and hide away. You have to figure out what is the safest thing for yourself.
I licked my wounds for a bit, and I'm still recovering from the rough seas from earlier this year, it takes a bit for things to calm down and for the cleanup to happen. I'm in the middle of this awkward process of being adventuresome again.
So, I took a risk. I fell a little for someone who showed some interest. I got my heart squished a bit. It's not broken like it was when my husband died, but the scab got pulled on a bit and yeah, it's bleeding a little.
Sometimes when we are careful, it hurts worse than when we are adventurous - like a broken bone poorly set, sometimes you need to be broken again so you can set properly. I know people who chose not to have those bones re-broken - the fear of the pain of that event, despite the eventual benefits, are more than they chose to experience. It's an acceptable way to live, but again, not something that is for me. I hope that people who hide themselves away get what they need out of life.
So, here was my thinking bench today, out of range of the surging surf. I was not going to get squashed by a log here - and I understand the benefit of being away from the adventuresome stuff - the benefits of not taking all of the risks.
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