“The beach is not a place to work; to read, write or to think.”—Anne Morrow Lindbergh, from Gift from the Sea
I want to be happily alone on a shell-scattered, quiet beach.
I see a particular sandy shore that emerges like faded polaroids, but it no longer exists that way I once discovered it. Still it lives on as a cherished memory from my childhood.
When my life sometimes feels meager, or overcrowded with tasks and demands, I tend to go to a place in my mind where I am kneeling in the soft wet sand of Sanibel Island, a remote stretch of hardened rock-coral that exists across a lengthy causeway, just a few miles outside of Fort Myers, Florida.
As a boy, circa the seventies, you’d find me wandering contentedly alone, a canvas sailors cap turned inside out, scouting for seashells up and down the wide sun glittering beach, filling up my orange plastic bucket with treasures from the ocean.
As author Anne Morrow Lindbergh acknowledges, beaches are meant to disappear into.
That Zen-like activity of stooping over, pausing, kneeling, picking up a beautiful wet shell and moving on to the next, extracts the soul out of mundane time and into something sacred, eternal. I want to re-enter that state of wonder, when all that mattered was the salted sea breeze, the foamy ocean tide, the turquoise sea water and soft sand moving through my toes and fingers, my whole being scrubbed into a perfect smoothness.
Anne Morrow Lindbergh's classic book reminds me of this precious time in my life when I was wholly absorbed into this very simple act of searching for a few shells.
I discovered the book right after graduating high school and it has been a perennial read all these years since.
The book’s premise is to remember what is essential in life by using the metaphor of a simple seashell for each chapter. It calls on the reader to deeply look for cohesion and balance in modern life by appreciating solitude and accepting the necessary ebb and flow in relationships and personal life. Discard shallow nostalgia, preaches Lindbergh, and wholly accept the truth of what is.
The book's observations on simplicity, contentment, and the need for an inner anchor can apply to everyone. Lindbergh sets up a simple template for navigating the complexities of an evolving world. Even though trends come and go and values seem to be radically shifting, the author insists we must linger in introspection and find meaning in cultivating a sincere relationship with oneself. Lindbergh writes:
“Simplicity of living, as much as possible, to retain a true awareness of life. Balance of physical, intellectual, and spiritual life. Work without pressure. Space for significance and beauty. Time for solitude and sharing. Closeness to nature to strengthen understanding and faith in the intermittency of life: life of the spirit, creative life and the life of human relationships. A few shells.”
(My mother Genevieve and I at seaside in the seventies.)
Lindbergh’s book is a classic. She demonstrates that all of us must surrender to the mysterious process of life and wait with “grace” as the sea (and life itself) offers its many gifts to us. She insists, “Patience, patience, patience, is what the sea teaches. Patience and faith.”
I feel so glad to have had the childhood I had—what a great blessing to know so many moments of quiet introspection and wonder—and to know early on, first hand, the benefits of solitude.
It has served me well as an adult, traveling and living abroad solo.
As Lindbergh asserts, “Don't wish me happiness, I don't expect to be happy all the time...It's gotton beyond that somehow. Wish me courage and strength and a sense of humor. I will need them all.”
Resources
It still surprises me how many people have not encountered this gem of a book! First published in 1955, its axioms and anecdotes are as relevant today as when it was first written. If you’re looking for an unsentimental view of life and relationships, you can’t do better than Gift From the Sea.
(All photos by Gerard Wozek or in alignment with Creative Commons.)
Hi Gerry,
I've never been to Sanibel Island, but I've been to Orchard Beach in the Bronx, which I will guarantee is not as beautiful. However, as a kid into my teenage years, I appreciated the magic of watching the wet sand and water go through my toes, as well as collecting shells. Orchard Beach is literally 10-15 minutes where I lived, so my family went there often. It is in a beautiful part of the Bronx.
I loved this post and how you connected the act of shell collecting with fostering introspection in you at an early age. By the way, is that photo of the shell collection yours? Quite an impressive collection of shells! I also love the photo of you and your mom. So wonderful.
I haven't read Gift From the Sea, but it's now on my to-read list. Thank you for a stellar essay!
I've spent time on Sanibel Island also, shelling as well. It is a lovely area. Lovely picture of you and your mother. My mother's name was also Genevieve, but most people called her Jean. Thanks for the book recommendation. I will have to look that one up.