The Weight of the Waves

The sun was setting, its golden rays spilling over the water as if reluctant to leave the day unfinished. I stood by the shore, the soft sand cool under my feet, while the sea stretched endlessly before me, rolling forward and retreating as if it carried secrets too heavy to keep. Yet, my own thoughts felt heavier, like a stone sinking in those very waves. 

What was I doing with my life? I had asked myself this question so many times that it no longer felt like a question, but a quiet shadow that followed me everywhere. I wasn’t unhappy exactly. I had a good job, supportive parents, and friends who cared for me. But there was a gap somewhere, a space where my joy should have been. 

For as long as I could remember, I had been running—racing against the expectations of others, chasing the idea of success like a mirage in the desert. My dreams? They had become the first sacrifices in this endless race. Not practical, I told myself. What use were dreams that didn’t promise a steady income or a nod of approval from the world? I folded them away neatly, like clothes too old to wear, and focused on doing what was “right.” 

But now, standing here, watching the waves roll in, I wondered: was I even running toward something? Or had I been running in circles all along? 

A small shell caught my eye, nestled in the sand, and I bent down to pick it up. It was smooth on one side, rough on the other—a contradiction, like so many things in life. As I turned it over in my hand, I realized how much I had been trying to smooth out my own rough edges, to fit into the mold of what others thought I should be. Yet, this tiny shell seemed perfectly at peace with its imperfections. 

The waves continued their steady rhythm, filling the silence around me. It wasn’t that I regretted my choices entirely—after all, I had done what I thought was best at the time. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had left a part of myself behind. The part that once dreamed freely, without fear of judgment or failure. 

The air grew cooler as the sun dipped lower, and the first stars began to appear. I slipped the shell into my pocket and turned to walk back home. I hadn’t found any answers tonight, only more questions. But maybe that was enough for now. 

Life, I thought, wasn’t about finding perfect answers. It was about learning to carry the questions, even when they had no easy resolution. 

_{Image credits: AI-generated image}