The Way of Water

You don’t have to be around me very long to know that there are two things I love. The happiest Serena is by the sea, when she is by the sea she likes to find pieces of discarded glass. The kind of piece that has been shattered and then softened by the salty sea waters. A sunny day by the seaside, and beach glass, happy Serena!

Recently, Serena had an opportunity to play on a beach by the sea in Norfolk. The game we played was to try and get caught in every single rain shower that occurred between 11:30 and 2:00. Serena was successful. Including a drenching shower that managed to soak her in the fifty metres across the car park to the toilet. 

The coastline was an incredible example of the power of the sea. I had been on that beach, some eight years earlier and sat in a cafe that was now eroded. You could see at the top of the cliff, imperceptibly at first the persistence of water made its unique mark on the landscape. 

In between showers, I searched for beach glass. I found none, instead, I discovered a rock. There was a hole in the centre of the rock running all the way through from top to bottom. 

And this is another reason to love the seaside. If the nature of light is soft and effuse, then the way of water has a rhythmic tenacity, a metronomic consistency, that claws at concepts. It pours itself into long-held, solid ideas. Imperceptibly at first, drop by drop, the way of water imprints itself into the rock as a source of refreshment. The rock above is on my windowsill, near where I sit to write. I have placed it there to remind myself that anything can change with time and consistency. Water is never hurried, it has its way. Persistent tenacity, gentle and soothing, is the way of water and the way of love.

Abundance

When I reflect on my early twenties, those post-graduation years, where everyone says ‘the world is your oyster.’ There was an abundance of lots of things. Friendships were everywhere. There was an abundance of activity. An evening in was a guilt-inducing rarity. 

When I reflect on my late twenties and early thirties, there was an abundance of opportunity. Creative ventures, fulfilling work, and the financial security that came with career progression. There was also an abundance of new experiences as I completed my first Marathon, saw U2 live, and bought my first house. 

Here is the interesting thing though, I do not quickly or easily remember the abundance of those seasons. As I battled to pay back student loans and make my first grown-up purchases, I remember the scarcity of money and the excitement of finding a yellow ‘reduced’ sticker on a favourite product. Later, as numerous friends married and had children, I easily remember the sting of singleness and the barren scarcity of an unfulfilled desire. 

I think my point is exactly that though. We are hard-wired to have an acute awareness of our lack. Whether that is a lot of month left at the end of the money, a house too quiet, or a lonely drive to another wedding. Our scarcity saddens or scares us, and we are more aware of the danger of these circumstances. It takes attention to notice the delightful abundance of a room of friends sharing a simple bowl of pasta. The thrill of crossing the finish line in under 4 hours. Laughing for hours with a good friend because in every season there is an abundance of laughter.

I think that may be where I want this idea to end up though that every season has an abundance of something good. Learning to pay attention to the abundance within our circumstances is perhaps the point of each season. And if you really can't think of anything good, buy some M and Ms. There's an abundance of them in every pack!

Comment below what there is an abundance of in your life currently.