Turn to the magic

Last Sunday, for the first time in five years, I was able to take a sunrise walk on the beach. I felt the cooling breeze on an already warm day, watched gliding pelicans and anxious sea gulls, sat on the jetty eyeing boats in the channel ... but the uhmmmm moment, that connection with it all that I so fondly recall, failed to appear.

We lived on Mustang Island, the small barrier island near Corpus Christi that is home to Port Aransas, for almost five years. I was able to greet a majority of those 1,700-plus days with a walk on the beach, easily the single most memorable activity of my time there.

I would cross over the sand dunes, survey the expansive Gulf of Mexico, take a deep breath and soak it in before deciding whether to turn right or left. Usually, I went left, often all of the way to the jetty, where I typically paused for a few minutes to monitor the comings and goings in the channel.

When tourists asked about my favorite pastimes, they assumed I did a lot of fishing (seldom and then not very seriously), playing in the surf (maybe a couple of times the first summer), lying in the sun (never), enjoying the great restaurants (as often as possible, but we’re not on vacation, you know) and so on.

My favorite thing about living on the island, I told them, was being there. I felt a connection with it all, especially those mornings on the beach.

Sometimes, I stopped in my walk at one of the few benches and sat there, staring at the waves and beyond, watching the distant blue ocean give way to blue sky. In fact, that’s where I headed when I had some issue weighing on my mind. Staring out over the water seemed to filter out distractions and allow me to work on what was puzzling me.

That’s what I sought last weekend.

I had struggled most of Friday with something nagging me – not really a problem, just one of those questions about how to proceed with a matter I had been working on. As we made the five-hour drive to Port Aransas, we talked about what we wanted to do and my only desire was that one favorite activity from the past.

Surely, I thought, taking in a beach sunrise would give birth to an epiphany and help me figure out what to do next.

However, as we finished our walk, I knew nothing magical happened. There was not that uhmmmm moment I fondly remembered.

On the drive home Sunday afternoon, I confessed it all to Leah. I had a good time, was glad we went, etc., but it just wasn’t the same.

Perhaps, I said, it’s because I can no longer consider it my beach. Maybe my prior experiences were the result of regular doses of salt air and not available in single shots.

As we drove, I tried to outline what nagged me. Leah listened, we talked about it and she gave me her insight.

Dang if she didn’t make sense.

It’s no surprise, really, that I find more magic in our 33-year marriage than a walk on the beach.