Picking Up Things Along The Way

I am a beach comber.

There is more to that than meets the eye.

I have been picking up-- and collecting-- things since I was quite small. It is, perhaps, one of the most pervasive constants in my life.

Whereas I walk on the beach "for a living," walking on the beach is about far more than "making a living." Some people do Yoga, some people jog, some people meditate and some people build amazing model railroads. I walk on the beach... in a sense, it is my meditation; my way of getting Zen with life, and everything in it.

"Making a living" is coincidental. The beach (meaning "any" beach) has deep personal meaning for me; I would walk the beach and pick up "things," no matter what.

"Things."

Interesting word, that.

For me-- and in the context of this blog-- "things" may (literally) refer to objects found on the beach. It may also refer to the things from a flea market, or the grocery. Then again, it may refer to ideas, epiphanies, opinions, theories and flights of fancy. And people.

Whether we actually "met" through an otherworldly psychic connection (when I was thirteen and she was eight), or through words on web pages much like this, or at a major airport (depending on your perspective), I sometimes wonder if I didn't originally "find" the Love of my life on a beach.

Truth be known, I also "collect" blogs. This is probably (at least) the 50th time I have started one.

You see, the other pervasive constant in my life is writing.

In ways similar to the tides on my beach, my writing ebbs and flows. But, like the tides, it's always there.

Beginnings are good. I like beginnings... they always hold a sense of hope, for me.