Our month in coastal South Carolina is flying by, and I’m trying to make the most of it. Even though I’d rather stay snuggled in bed, I get up early (almost) every morning and take a walk to the ocean. It’s only ten minutes away and usually worth it.

It’s a familiar route, since we’re renting in the same condo development my mom used to live in after she retired in her early 60s and moved down here from Vermont. For over thirty years I’ve taken this walk to the beach when visiting down here, either alone or with someone. Towing my daughter, when she was small, in a Radio Flyer red wagon with the beach stuff. Later using it as a good excuse to get some exercise.

This week, walks to the ocean have been almost mandatory. Because for me, the seaside is a meditative place, the ocean a symbol of change and continuity. Its inexorable wave upon wave reminds us of the march of time and the constant restructuring of life. Each day is rewritten on the sand with water and wind.

The ocean also ties us to the rest of the world. It’s a bit mind-blowing to think that on the other side, thousands of miles away from the Carolina coast, is (apparently, because we looked it up) North Africa. And to think of how this very ocean, for better or worse, in triumph or sorrow, brought peoples from many lands to the shores of America throughout history.

As we brace for what comes next, after a week that brought first hope then disbelief, the ocean is always there, and I will rise from my warm bed to follow its call, gaze upon its ever shifting waters, and ponder.