Not that long ago, it was a bit of a fun pastime hobby of mine to keenly observe most of the imprints left on the bare sand at the beach while going for a walk, waiting for the sun to come closer to the horizon.
These were mostly footsteps, many of them barefoot since it feels more natural to walk barefoot on bare sand.
Direct contact with the earth beneath creates an intimacy that shoes somehow steal away. Sometimes, it's like having a direct connection that reminds us we're part of something larger than ourselves.
There were also bicycle and motorcycle tracks cutting through the softer sand, dog steps and horse steps too, as riding a horse near the water's edge seems to awaken something primal in both rider and beast.
In some ways, each mark told its own story, albeit a temporary signature left by someone (or something) that had passed through this exact spot a moment in time before I arrived there.
Oftentimes, when I reach a comfortable far enough point of walking distance from where I started, I'll decide to turn around and follow the same path back to where I started.
The slight twist this time around is becoming aware of the erasure of the imprints, and the nearer I get to my starting point, the less clear the imprints on the sand get, as they've begun to fade with each wave coming from the restless ocean.
What previously had been sharp, defined edges when I first passed over them now appeared blurred around the margins, some barely visible impressions of what they once were.
Usually, the first walk is shorter than the second walk. I prefer walking faster when I'm going and walking slowly when coming back.
I read somewhere a while ago about variations in walking pace being somehow good for one's health, in terms of cardiovascular conditioning and muscle engagement, but I suspect my own rhythm had nothing to do with fitness and everything to do with the human tendency to rush toward the unknown and linger in contemplation on the way home.
Looking back now, I can't even tell why I picked up this hobby other than that part of me genuinely enjoyed the visuals of observing these imprints, trying to draw them in my head, with the hopes of being able to replicate their patterns later, in some shape or form.
Now, a realization can be derived from this pastime experience of the inevitable fading of imprints in sand.
An obvious one is this temporary aspect of memory that we all have.
Almost 90% of the experiences we have are forgotten the more time passes between the experience itself and our attempt to recall it.
I'd be hard pressed if I had to recall exactly what I was doing at this time last month. It has completely faded from my conscious mind.
Another, not so obvious realization is that our sense of direction in life follows a similar pattern of gradual erosion, in that we rarely notice when we've begun to stray from our intended path.
For me, the actual realization is that any form of north star I've developed over the years also suffers a similar fate of fading away as the waves of daily routine coupled with unexpected challenges and shifting priorities wash over the clarity I once held.
I'm trying to maintain this rather fixed attitude of keeping the star shining so brightly that no amount of time can diminish its brightness.
Reality has other plans unfortunately, one that seems designed to test both my memory of what matters most and the commitment to regularly renewing that clarity.
The latter I'm beginning to understand is an ongoing practice that on most days is just maintenance work, which feels remarkably similar to cleaning a house that will inevitably get dirty again.
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