The Beach Portrait

Summer Self-Portrait 2: at the beach

When my sweet friend asked me to go to the beach this past weekend, I was initially unsure. I hadn't been "home" even one night all week and was feeling like tucking into bed with notebooks and some pens, a book or two of poetry and a delicious novel. But the prospect of spending time with her and being giddy and silly and girlish was far too tempting. I said "YES" and threw my stuff into an oversized hobo bag and hopped in her car, headed south for the sea and sky.

We hit the beach immediately, trying to outrun storms and enjoy a sliver of sunlight before it was gone. I took pictures of the clouds, the gulls, the sand itself and what I found there and then, on impulse, I fired off a bunch of shots of myself. I was lying on a towel, not a trace of makeup on...my need for sleep etched all over my face, the wind knotting my hair. I wasn't giving my "camera pose or smile" that I seem to do whenever anyone sets up a picture of a group or at an event. However, as I took the self-portraits, I felt only deep contentment.

The ocean was green-black, the sky velvet and ominous with the scent of salt and brine biting through the air. A tangle of seaweed perched on the sand just inches from the camera, the strands just as clustered and clumped as the veins emerging on the backs of my hands...like my father's hands. My heart felt full to bruising. I wanted to savor this moment of feeling fully at peace in my body and my confused and uncertain life...to split the quiet sense of acceptance between my teeth, dividing cherry flesh from stone.

I was there to go out and have fun...to enjoy the new freedoms being offered to me, as scary as they sometimes are. But before the blurry night started, I had a moment of utter clarity on the beach about how I am exactly where I should be, exactly as I should be. I don't need to do a thing but keep saying YES to this unfolding self, digging my toes into the damp edge of where land meets water, while waves erase all of the footprints behind me. I'm not lost. I am coming home...to myself.