The In Between Place

I’m up at 4:30 and I can’t tell if it is cloudy or clear but I can see the faint glow of whitewater on the web cams which means there is no fog. As the morning progresses and I look out my windows, it sure does look foggy here by my apartment. The trees here are partially hidden behind mist. I better check the web cams again. I go to Surfline on my phone and the beach looks as plain as can be. Ok. Well that’s cool. I’m out just a few minutes past 6:45.

While it seems foggy here, there is something in the light that shouts “sun.” It’s just the faintest yellowish golden hue that accents the light shining on the outside walls of the buildings as I turn onto Golden Lantern. As I drive down Selva toward the parking lot, I am telling you I cannot see the water. How can it not be totally socked in at the beach. I pop open the strands web cam and I can still see the beach as if there is no fog at all. I don’t really get it but whatever.

From the parking lot, I can see water. It’s odd but the closer to the beach I get, the clearer the sky seems to become. Usually it is the opposite. I mean there is definitely some haze here but when I look out as far as I can see, I know I will definitely not be swimming that far out.

I walk down the stairs and take in the peace of the morning. I let my mind rest on the sound of the surf. I wonder what it is trying to say. It is definitely saying something. If I can just open my heart and let these sounds settle, what will they leave behind?

There is something about this hazy light that casts a soft blue glow on the water. It is beautiful. This is a different beach from the one I came to yesterday. I mean I parked in the same parking lot and walked down the same stairs, but this place looks entirely different - almost unearthly. It’s like some kind of liminal in between place. I’m looking for a ferryman who I expect to be drifting inshore at any moment to take me to some other place I don’t know where.

There is someone sleeping on the sand right at the base of the ramp from the asphalt to the beach. I really really hope he is sleeping.

As I walk into the water, I can barely make out the horizon line. This haze blurs the divide between the water and air. I feel like I am walking through some kind of blissful nothingness. The water feels good. I lean forward, and there is some initial coolness that quickly subsides into a sort of pleasant surprise. Why yes, this is where I am supposed to be. Some times I wonder. Should I just let myself sleep in on this Saturday morning? Do I really want to be doing this or do I just think I want to be doing this? Believe me, there is a difference. Well I now have total confirmation that yes, this is what I want to be doing right now. I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be right now.

I swim south and everything is lovely here. Through the haze there is some very soft blue sky. It is a sort of obscured blue, but it is still blue. It tells me that there is light out there somewhere beyond the haze. As I get closer to the cove below the headlands, I can see terns flying right along the cliffs like little white specs against the huge brown rock that borders the south end of the open water here. Surely this is the same rock witnessed by Richard Henry Dana two hundred years ago. The same rock my dad would surely stare at in the 60’s when he first surfed this beach. Not much has changed in this rock but it HAS changed. Even I can recognize a few subtle shifts here and there that are different from when I was a child.

I finally reach this rock and turn around to find lifeguard tower zero below the Ritz barely visible but definitely visible. I head north and as time passes, it seems like things are definitely growing more foggy here. That point that separates this beach and Salt Creek is getting fuzzier and fuzzier. I definitely cannot see anything past it. On my next breath for air, I tilt my neck slightly to see if I can still see the point (that rock) between here and the harbor. I definitely can and wait…was there something else there? I stop and look back. There is a kayaker heading this way. Then I see about 20 kayakers heading this way. They soon surround me. I love this. Here we all are gathering where no one usually is. Soon enough we will all scatter and once again this spot will be left to its lonesome.

I keep swimming and I am getting closer to the cliff below the Ritz. I can start to make out the solitary pink buoy that remains in the water here and it looks so distinguishable in this dim haze. It’s like some sort of a beacon and I find myself drawn to it like a fly to a light bulb. I swim directly to it. I stop once I am close and I can hear voices that sound like they are coming from shore. I can’t see anyone. Am I hearing the remains of yesterday’s beach chatter still echoing against the sand, water and rock as it slowly drifts out to open sea? Perhaps it will reach Catalina tomorrow.

I wonder why it is that I am here. Not necessarily at this beach but HERE. I’m pretty sure it is to learn something. I think we are all given our own special curriculum as we walk through life. Perhaps we agreed on the syllabus before we were born and then we forgot because it just wouldn’t be the same if we could remember. I wonder how am I doing? Am I learning? Are the lessons sinking in? I’m not entirely confident most days. I do know this. I am giving it the best I have.