It was one of those gnarly weather periods in LA: all four seasons in one day. The moment we got to the beach, fall was thrusting forward... pushing Summer to the back of the line. The sun was hiding and the wind was gaining momentum, yet people continued to indulge. We walked along, wrapped our scarves tighter, zipped our jackets and allowed the waves to caress our bare feet. At some point, we had walked further than the common area and were the only humans in the vicinity. We stopped talking and the rhythm of the air became deliciously intoxicating. The beauty of that moment is difficult to describe; it was more a feeling. Walking along the beach, you can't help but notice the sun oppose the clouds, the clouds influence on the wind, the winds interaction with the water and the waters connection to the sand. They each have an awareness of their place in this domain; we should feel so lucky to exist in their orbit. Yet here I was, an LA native for almost two years and I could count (on one hand) the number of times I took a stroll along the beach. 

That was about two months ago. Since that time, I make it a weekly priority to drive the 40-minute, scenic route across town to fuse with nature. Some of these moments I am mentally overwhelmed; uncertainty ahead of me while self doubt pulls up the rear. I walk along doing my best to leave tears, agony and confusion behind. I make a conscious effort to enjoy the sand as it grazes my toes and notice the saltwater erasing the paint... and the temporary pain.  

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