Lessons from the Beach

I woke up this morning, on day two of my long-awaited vacation in Myrtle Beach, SC,

feeling a wave of emotions. I realized I’ve battled with chronic anger for a long time.

Anger, as much as it seems like a primary emotion, is a byproduct of many deeper

feelings—but ultimately, it reflects pain in the shape of protection.

Anger is a symptom of not feeling heard, of feeling used, neglected. It’s the pressure

of the heat finally popping off and exploding, either in small bursts or a big boom. My

anger and I have grown close. I’ve learned to cuddle it, allow it to pass, then ask the

deeper questions:

Who crossed my boundaries?

Am I angry at them—or at myself for not setting or sticking to them?

Am I angry at my choices?

Am I frustrated by the outcome?

This morning, after sitting with those questions, I needed something that felt bigger

than me. I needed nature. I needed the ocean.

I craved witnessing the sunrise. But with an overcast sky, I still went downstairs to the

beach and walked in the East direction—knowing the sun wasn’t visible, but still there

to greet me.

I purposefully left my phone in the apartment, with a note for my teenage daughter in

case she got up before I returned. The moment I stepped foot in the sand, my soul

knew: I was now connected to my roots.

The ocean is where I’m most alive. It’s where I feel calm and supported by its

immensity. I particularly love the Atlantic coast here in South Carolina—it reminds me

of southern Brazil. Wide sand, beach for miles, enough waves to bodyboard, but calm

enough to feel safe swimming. It’s my definition of paradise.

With each step, the rhythm of the waves and the sand under my feet softened my

thoughts, creating space for something deeper to come through. I started noticing my

thought patterns. Soon, I was connected to God—to the source of wisdom inside each

one of us. And it told me: Embrace your darkness. Love it.

Because just like the overcast above me, contrast is the key element of this

experience called life.

Yesterday was sunny and hot, and we had a blast on the beach—but we got

sunburned. So today, the overcast feels like a gift. Like the protection we needed to

still enjoy the ocean, but not get burned again. Sunny days allow us to appreciate the

clouds, and clouds allow us to welcome back sunny days with gratitude and

excitement.

Much like anger, the clouds may not look pretty, but they shield us. They show up

when something’s been too much—and in their own way, they give us space tobreathe again.

Then I heard the message again: Love every dark side of yourself. That too is part of

God.

Just then, I saw a big, bright black shell on the ground. It caught my eye—it was so

unique—and I smiled, because the beauty of that shell was in its darkness.

But just as I thought it was the only dark shell around, I looked up and saw the beach

covered in them, just a few steps ahead. Each more beautiful than the next. Some

broken, some uniquely shaped and adorned in nature’s perfect way.

I picked up as many as I could carry in two hands and marveled at the lesson the

ocean taught me today.

As for us… let us learn to love each part of ourselves. Just like the shells—some

broken, some whole, all beautiful—so are we. Even the sharp edges, the stormy

moods, the moments of anger… they all belong. They all reflect our aliveness.

It is in the contrast that our beauty lies. It’s in the shadow that we can best see the

light. And it’s when we feel low, that we look up and see the marvel that is God’s

creation.

You are love.