I felt like what I assume a child feels on Christmas morning: giddy and excited, impatient and hopeful. It was Sunday morning, the morning of our last day in San Diego before returning back to normal life. The trip, thus far, had been perfect and amazingly fun. It gave me quality time with two of my best friends and refreshed my overworked brain.
I woke up that morning to illuminated palm trees framing the balcony of our room. My friends were still asleep and I contemplated getting some extra rest. As I layed back and gazed outside, I reflected on how awesome it was that I was sitting in such a place, waking up to palm trees, with the ocean just a few steps away. It was then, that I felt the ocean pulling at me. Dramatic, right? It's true though. The entire time in San Diego, as soon as I could hear or feel or smell the beach I had this weird inner NEED to be in the sand, in the water immediately.
In a sense of quiet urgency, I slid out of bed, rummaged around for a room key and crept out into the hallway, pajama clad, and then proceeded to jog to the stairwell, down three flights of stairs, and out into the perfect San Diego morning.
I walked quickly, yet purposefully, along the winding paths that led from our hotel to the private beach. I wanted to get to the ocean quickly, but I also wanted to enjoy the sites along the way knowing I wouldn't see them for a very long time. I stopped to visit the coy pond, took a few pictures of the ducks, the trees, the fountains. It was a nice, quiet, refreshing stroll.
Finally, I could see the bamboo gate which would lead me out of the resort area and to the beach. I could barely see a glimpse of the water as I approached, the fog blurring the line between water and sky. As I approached the gate, the scene took my breath away:
The only other people on the beach that morning was a man and his son. They were quietly swimming and paddling out into the bay on a surfboard. The main called out to me, "there are plenty of seashells at the edge of the water!"
He was right. I searched for the prettiest shells and found mainly broken pieces. My intention was to find some shells and make one of them into a necklace for my friend back home who wanted to come along on the trip but wasn't able too. I prayed silently that I would find something she would like, feeling even in mid-prayer, that it was a silly thing to pray about. I walked a few feet more and saw a shell, completely intact, and picked it up. The water had worn a small hole in it, in the perfect spot to hang from a necklace! This is what the finished product looks like: