Focal Length



The Grand Long Distance View

Sometimes it's surprising where we find inspiration and direction. I was reminded of this recently. It was maybe 35 hours before the end of 2011, and my head was brimming with everything I hoped to accomplish in 2012. It's good to have a noggin full of dreams and plans, but mine was about to burst. The new year felt unmanageable before it even got started.

The cure, I thought, was to go to the beach and stare at the horizon until calm and focus returned. It was an uncharacteristically sunny winter day, so I leashed the dog and off we went.

Apparently, everyone else had the same idea. The beach was chaotic. People were off school and work, and when the sun came out, so did they. Families played in the sand, kids yelled at the tops of their lungs, and earnest runners and walkers got a jump start on their 2012 fitness goals.

My dog yanked the leash, and rolled in foul smelling stuff, and attempted to jump on people. My hands hurt from her playful romping. Since dogs aren't allowed directly on this beach, she stayed on leash and we stayed on the cement path that runs parallel to the shore.

Once in a while, I caught a glimpse of the horizon.

It wasn't doing the trick.

My head was still overflowing, and the noisy surroundings and jerky pet weren't helping.

Then, ahead of me and to my right, I heard it. Someone was playing the sax. It sounded amazingly clear and it cut through the chaos. I knew exactly where it was coming from. There's a foot-traffic tunnel near the beach that runs under train tracks, and the sax player was taking advantage of the great acoustics in this underpass. I walked toward the music, but not too close. I saw the player's silhouette, back lit in the tunnel, and settled myself on a low cement wall to listen. I was about half way between the shore and the sax player.


The Humble Underpass with Great Acoustics

His playing was smooth and a touch moody. It was both calming and engaging. But it wasn't only that. Many of my dreams and plans are about making art, and it was encouraging to hear this man practice his craft out in the open.

I turned my back on the beautiful and distant horizon, and turned toward the unknown musician. The dog was no longer tugging at the leash. She was digging madly in a bed of sand near my feet. She was wild and happy, then exhausted.

I looked over at a man and woman on a bench not far from me. They were sketching! I felt linked to these people making art. A few minutes after I spotted them, they gathered their belongings to leave. The woman slid her notebook into a small paper bag, then gave it a little kiss.

By settling into the present time and place, not by looking into the distance, I found focus and calm. Ironically, that made me feel optimistic about reaching my dreams for the future.