It just occurred to me that I’ve spent the better part of the last hour staring.
In fact, it wasn’t until the sun’s warmth dried the morning humidity off my face that I realized it. The ripples and bumps in the waters of the bay spun me into a trance, its patternless but somehow uniform blend of blues and grays flowing in front of my eyes. And in retrospect, it seems all too easy to have become lost in this repetitive and indiscernible cycle of ebbs and flows.
But the beauty of the ocean lies in its mystery, in the unpredictability of the ebbs, flows, and cycles that happen below the surface, that form the sum of all the parts we do not see. There is beauty in not knowing what occurs beneath; it is thrilling, captivating, and even scary at times.
Perhaps it’s true beauty lies in the uniformity and universality that could only be achieved through becoming lost in its ripples, its disarray and its lack of pattern.
It shows us the comfort we can find in the unknown, and reveals the beauty of being lost.