The lesson of the sand dollar(s)
Everything we want is right here. Waiting for us. Have faith. Plus: my summer uniform (day + night versions).
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Hi Midlifers!
The Jersey Shore was packed yesterday — at least the stretch of beach at the top of my street where I now live. My kids and I rode our bikes the five or so blocks up after lunch to get in an hour or two of beach time and were confronted with crowds that seemed more in line with the 4th of July than just a mid-summer Saturday.
A clear blue sky stretched over the sea of chairs and umbrellas packed so closely together and running so far back across the sand that we couldn’t even see the ocean as we trudged into the crowd to find a spot. We found an opening and lined our colorful beach chairs up, me in between my two boys and future daughter in law, and settled in. I watched my sons spray sun tan lotion on each other’s backs while us girls chatted about wedding stuff and after about 15 minutes, we all agreed that we couldn’t handle the sun beating down on us one more second.
The tide was so high yesterday afternoon and the beach was so crowded that there was a wall of chairs in front of the ocean and we had to squeeze through people talking to each other to get near the water. We picked our way through our fellow beachgoers, navigating around brightly striped towels and piles of plastic toys splayed across the lava-like sand until our feet hit the water’s edge.
The kids hesitated for a second but I waded right in. After a week of watching the tops of my thighs turn purple in Maine’s still-freezing ocean, Jersey felt like a bathtub. I dipped my shoulders under the murky green water and let my feet float up, watching as my toes bobbed over the small waves, and thought about how different the scene before me was than the week I just spent in a cabin overlooking a secluded beach in Maine.
I gave my therapist a recap of the trip during our virtual session this week. I gushed about how beautiful the spot was and how I’d balanced all that alone time by making connections with old and new friends and digging back into my manuscript. And then I recounted the sand dollar story, which I shared a little about last week.
How on my very first day of the trip I brought my chair and towel down to the beach and despite it being late morning and a beautiful Sunday in July, it was pretty deserted. After documenting the scene with a million videos and pictures on my phone, I settled onto the chair to read and was immediately attacked by black flies (or green heads? it doesn’t matter, they’re terrible). They were so relentless that I finally gave up decided to walk along the water’s edge, where there seemed to be less fly activity. I was watching my feet move through the clear, cold water and suddenly noticed off to the right something circular among the shards of larger shells and shiny halves of mussels. I leaned down to investigate and was shocked to see it was an intact sand dollar — something I’d always wanted to find, a sand dollar that was whole and that didn’t wave a big chip in it or a piece snapped off.
I had just seen a giant rainbow stretch across the ocean the night before from my cabin after a rainstorm and later in the week, I’d be confronted by a big fat moon hanging in the sky. I saw it as I drove back to the cabin one night along the rutted dirt road, and as I rounded the corner that opened up to the beach, the brightness of it hanging over the trees in the distance caught my eye.
So, yeah. I just needed a unicorn to walk out from behind the cabin to confirm that Maine could be the setting for some unintentional magical realism in my storytelling. Portents were cropping up all over the place.
Getting back to that sand dollar, I immediately took a picture of it lying across by open hand flecked with bits of dark sand. I carefully carried it back to my beach chair where I was once again attacked by flies as I tried to shove my big toes through the snug loops of my old lady sandals, which are comfortable but not built for quick getaways. I was hot, sandy and sweaty and in my haste to pack up and flee, threw the sand dollar into my canvas tote alone with my paperback and sunscreen and hustled back up the beach to navigate large flat rocks that led to the trail up the bluff back to the cabin.
After showering off and getting ready to read on the wooden deck outside the cabin overlooking the ocean, I dug into the beach bag to find my book and was confused by the crumbs I saw at the bottom. “Wait, did I bring cookies?” I wondered and then realized, with the appropriate amount of horror, that it was the sand dollar.
I’m going to pause here and observe that there are a lot of different ways this could have gone. I could have cursed the flies, the cabin owners for not telling me about the flies, the people of Maine for not doing something about this infestation, or my horrible luck—that I mess everything up. Squander every gift I’ve been given.
But that’s not what I chose to do. Instead, I told myself that I’d simply find another before the end of the trip. I just knew, in my tight little heart, that I would.
Every day, I walked that long stretch of dark sand that was so densely packed it felt like I was walking across a wood floor, and kept my eye out for sand dollars. On the last day, I was lying on the queen-sized bed in the cabin and feeling tired and queasy from some kind of virus I was fighting and not remotely in the mood for physical activity. But I kind of thought about the sand dollar and how this was my final opportunity and not to mention, didn’t want to look back on the trip and regret I spent my final afternoon glumping on the bed watching a show on my iPad.
So I made what felt at the time like some heroic effort to put on my bathing suit and complicated sandals and pick my way down the trail to the beach. Then I saw that the tide hadn’t fully pulled back and there was still a large swath of water between the cove where I was staying and the long stretch of sand on the other side. I walked along the surf near me all the way to the big rocks at one end and as I headed back, saw two women crossing that thigh-deep water with their chairs held over their heads.
“Oh,” I thought and decided as they reached the other side that the canary in that watery coal mine survived and that I could do it, too. As I waded in toward the middle, the sand dipped down so that the water was slightly deeper and there was just enough of a current swirling past me that made me pause and wonder, “Is this really a good idea?” as I felt it pull at my legs. Between the iciness of the water and pull of the fast-moving water, it felt for a beat or two as if I was just moving in place and not forward. Like those dreams where I’m being chased by something scary but my feet feel like they’re stuck in quicksand and I can’t move. But suddenly, I could feel the rippled sand under my feet start to rise and my knees emerged from the clear water and I was walking out on the other side.
I stopped a few times to marvel how empty the beach was on a beautiful day in July. I pulled my phone out of the fanny pack strapped around my waist to try to capture my solitude. I clicked the VIDEO button and slowly turned all the way around to try to preserve that moment.How it felt to be alone and surrounded by so much beauty.
I kept my eye out for that sand dollar but also was starting to think that maybe the tide was still to high, there were really just a bunch of small rocks and a shell here or there, a bunch of crab legs, but they were all pretty scattered. Maybe that sand dollar on the first day was just a fluke and not something that washed up all the time.
And then I saw something round in the surf and kind of brown and leaned down to find another sand dollar — much bigger than that first one. I lifted it up and held it, so carefully, as I fished my phone out again to take its picture and then carried it like it contained the meaning of life, even when I went to put in the car to come home, I was so worried about it getting crushed.
I relayed this whole long story to my therapist this week and said, “I mean, if that’s not a great metaphor then I don’t know what is.”
“Amy,” she said, “this isn’t just a metaphor. It’s a realization of faith. Of knowing, with ease, that everything is going to work out.”
She reminded me how important it was to show The Universe what I wanted. To put all my energy into those things that will help move that needle and not get distracted, and I think about the petty judgements I have about other people. How I’m so busy worrying about who’s parking in front of my house or falling down deep TikTok holes and not taking all that energy instead to use for things that are more productive. Harnessing it to keep opening my heart to others and work on getting better at my writing. Being a better mom. A better friend. A kinder, more engage human.
This is especially resonant as July winds down and my birthday in August looms. That annual reminder of all that I still don’t have and yearn for. But I think that lesson of the sand dollar is keeping me from the usual spiral I find myself in right about now. My yearly freakout about getting older and my life not what I thought it would be and hearing the loud tick tick tick of sand hitting the growing pile at the bottom of my hour glass.
I am reminded that nothing of any worth that’s ever happened to me (for example sobriety or my late-in-life career) was through sheer good luck. They were the results of doing the work, even when I didn’t want to. Even when I’d rather sit in the dark on my couch and binge a show on Netlix with a bag of Doritos on my lap (I mean, don’t think that doesn’t still happen, with candy being the new Doritos).
In the meantime, I have my big sand dollar that safely made its way home to New Jersey and is sitting on the little greenhouse window over my sink. It’s surrounded by all the other knickknacks I’ve collected that bring me joy to look at as I rinse the yogurt and granola out of my bowl each morning after breakfast.
The sand dollar says to me, “Stay focused. Do the work. Everything you want is right ahead of you, shimmering in the sand of your life. Waiting for you to find it.”
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sunday shares: read + watch + cook + buy
My new summer uniform (daytime version). While roaming around Portland, Maine at the start of my trip, I happened upon Corey & Co and could have bought everything in the shop. But I controlled myself and splurged on a (kind of pricey) pinstriped, button-down dress (with side pockets!) from American Colors by Alex Ehrl. It’s become my go-to outfit. I’ve worn it to meet friends for lunch and a boat ride, an author book signing and even to work with loafers. It’s sold out online, but this Old Navy number is giving similar vibes.
My new summer uniform (nighttime version). To balance that vacation dress splurge, I have also just stocked up on another discovery that I am obsessed with. This pj set from Walmart is so soft and I really like how the shorts fit — not too loose, not too snug. Plus, the set is $16.98. I bought one pair a few weeks ago and just ordered two more this week (totally how I roll).
Maine 2024 getaway soundtrack. Last year, I listened to Olivia Rodrigo’s Guts nonstop. I couldn’t get enough of Vampire and Bad Idea, Right? and played on long walks along the Kennebac River and driving all over the Midcoast. This year, I am happy to announce that honor went to Chappell Roan’s Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess. GAHHHHHH. She’s so talented, I’m absolutely obsessed. Warning: her lyrics are kind of racy and raunchy and so might not be everyone’s cup of tea. That said, I think she’s super exciting and her songs are super fun.
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3 tough truths about all people. I sent myself this Mel Robbins TikTok this week and, well, it pretty much sums up my life’s challenges (plus a minor sugar addiction).
Thank youuuuuuu for reading. See you next Sunday. xoAmy
So appreciated your column this week. I am working on having faith as opposed to trying to control every outcome. Your column spoke to me!