Beach Dude

I saw evidence of his existence - a thin blanket and trash bag neatly arranged beneath the stairway - as I first carefully made my way down the cliff onto the beach early one morning. I was a bit wary as I stepped onto the sand (stranger danger!), but a glance around showed me there were enough people already populating the beach that someone would hear me scream if trouble arose, so I set my fears aside.

I'd been settled into my coveted shade spot for some time before he strutted from between the rocks behind me, his entrance announced by the rock music streaming from the small bluetooth speaker dangling from one wrist.

He was tall, and looked to be quite fit. His strong physique was highlighted by his once-thick, long, blond hair as it straggled down his sun-reddened shoulders. He wore only a pair of swim trunks, and clutched an almost empty reusable plastic bag in his free hand. He found a nook in the cliff wall just a short way from where I sat, then pulled a Monster drink out of the sack, along with a thin and somewhat grubby towel which he promptly put on the sand to claim his spot.

He took a long swig from his drink, then, still holding it in his free hand, walked to the water's edge, threw his chest out and his arms wide, walking a short ways into the surf. He raised his head high and offered a defiant laugh to the serene blue sky, welcoming the morning. He waited for the waves to recede just a bit, then clambered up and over the rocks, daring the water to wash him off his perch. I didn't have to budge from my spot to know he'd safely made it across because I could hear his music receding as he made his way back up the beach.

He didn't approach me, or anyone else that I saw. He wasn't looking for trouble; was careful to avoid even the appearance of aggressiveness towards the people intruding onto his peaceful beach that cool autumn morning.

He intrigued me, and I mused about his unknown story as I sat watching the waves. The beach is beautiful, yes, but a harsh place to try to call home. It must be hard to be a Have-not (or, perhaps, a Once-had), in the land of Haves. The nearest place to buy food was several miles down the road, and the nights awfully chilly. Though I saw no evidence of it, I hoped he had a stash of warm clothing somewhere nearby.

I was curious about the way he used his music to both announce his presence and secure himself some free space. He could have just quietly blended in - there are plenty of scruffy, long-haired aging surfers thereabouts - but he chose instead to be defiantly loud. I wondered if it was his way to announce to the world that he still exists. "I am!"

I could just be projecting - since retirement, I've struggled to understand how to define my place in the world when there is no place in the world I MUST be. When I left the beach, I tried to carry a little of his bravado with me; the "bring it on!" sense I got from him as he faced the waves. 

Nope, my world is not perfect, but I woke up this morning. There is no handy beach nearby, but I can easily get my hands on my caffeinated beverage of choice. I can raise my face to the sun, and throw my arms wide. I can laugh as I welcome the beauty the day brings. 

I AM!