I am fixated on a seashell. Really.
The best I can figure, it's the weight of it that has captivated me. It's heavy. Much thicker than any shell I've ever picked up on any beach in the 40 years or so that I can recall collecting them.
My most recent adventure is a solo one -- a week at the beach in the offseason in New Jersey. The idea is to give space to my thoughts and do some reading and writing. Part of what helps me in my creative flow and overall health is walks.
Upon arrival at the house, having settled in a bit, I brought a magazine and a chair to the beach. This is my nirvana. Sweatpants, bare feet, short sleeves giving way to a hoodie. About a half dozen other people scattered on this expanse of beach. I decided to walk along the water to see how my achy knees would feel walking in the wet sand.
As I stepped among clusters of pebbles and tiny shell fragments, then smooth sand, then seaweed, I saw this clam shell laying there like an offering. In about a quarter-mile stretch, I had not seen one whole shell, only pieces. This one was special. A perfect specimen. A standout.
I picked it up and immediately was surprised at its weight in my hand. It was so solid. Hmmmmm.
To some this would be no more than an ordinary clam shell. Its top has the usual gradating lines, sand-colored, tinged by gray. They're so common. But turn this one over and its inside is gorgeous. Mostly beige with dark gray edges, but it looks like stone. And its heft makes it feel like stone.
This casing housed one well-protected creature at some point. Did it get knocked around pretty good? Or did it stay nestled in one spot for years and years? I want to know its history. Its thickness has me convinced that it is old and storied, like one of those fascinating trees that has withstood so much it seems wise.
Can a tree or a seashell be wise?
I'm back on the beach chair. I clean excess grains of sand off my treasure. I hold the seashell to my ear and I hear the sea. I feel like I'm 12 again.
They say the beach in the offseason has a different pace. Ha. There's almost no pace at all. Getting used to that, relaxing into it, is kind of like lowering yourself into a steamy hot bath. At some point it dawns on you that you really can let all the tension go and just be.
What comes out of that? Rejuvenation. Space.
What comes out space? Does something have to?
Count each deep breath you take. Focus on a point in the horizon. Watch birds interact with each other. Smile for no reason. Cry.
Whatever.
Fixate on a shell. Let its story emerge in your mind. Make it a fairy tale.
Appreciate everything. Every darned thing.
By Nancy Colasurdo
