The child couldn’t have been more than three years old. Clad in his bucket hat, sunscreen, t-shirt, and jam shorts he ran toward the water throwing sand at the incoming surf and then running away. He did it over and over again. Each time he squealed and laughed reveling in the freedom of not being in control.
My computer and smartphone allow me to multitask and manipulate time in such a fashion that I have a sense of security that only being in control brings. Remote controls and programmable devices further the feeling allowing me to exert my will on everything from televisions to computers that run a radio station. Somewhere inside I know this is an illusion. I’ve just pushed over the first domino in a long line. They fall one by one, but I’m not in control. I can’t make them stop. I can’t tell them to stand up and do it again. I’m not really in control. I don’t readily admit it, at least not out loud. That is until I return to the Gulf and realize there’s something comforting about not being in control.
There is no controlling the waves or stopping the tide. If I place my chair close to the water’s edge at the wrong time, I know that it will soon be covered by the incoming tide. The realization that I’m not in control should make me come unglued, but it actually comforts me. Perhaps it’s knowing that not being in control of the sea means I won’t get a call from some irate tourist wondering where the heck the waves went.
It’s the same with the sunset. On our slice of 30-A, the sunset is like a college football game. It is a well-attend event celebrated with tailgating before, during, and after. We meet many of our temporary neighbors each evening at the boardwalk for this great event. It never gets old. We share stories of the day’s events and of our other lives in the real world. The sound of the surf, seabirds, and families laughing as they walk the beach in search of crabs provide the soundtrack for this incredible event. All the while we watch a giant Cremecicle melting in the summer heat. Its wonderfully delicate orange sherbet and cream spreads across the kitchen counter that is the Gulf of Mexico. And it all happens without any input from me. It’s totally out of my control. The sunrise is equally spectacular and I make it a point to witness it each day as well when we’re there. Once it’s up, you know another sunset is on the way. Time to stock the cooler for another evening on the boardwalk.
It makes me realize that I should be out of control more often.
So should you visit our home and find it empty, we’re likely going out of control along 30-A watching a Creamcile melting on the kitchen counter.
