Oakley and I were walking on the beach. He is my trusty, hyperactive sidekick. He is patient(ish) as I comb the beach for shells and pause to capture a sunrise photo or two (or twenty!).
I am a Shell Girl. I could search for shells for days and days and because of this I had to make a ground rule. Only very large shells that are intact are allowed in my house. Otherwise I would have displaced my family from our home a long time ago.
But, there’s this other island phenomenon that I have not yet figured out.
Shark tooth hunting.
It’s a very big deal where I live.
Believe me I’ve tried. As much as one can try while supervising a 10 month old puppy who happens to be the equivalent of a Walmart greeter to the patrons of the beach.
I scan and move on.
No time to dawdle.
After several weeks of zero shark tooth location, I kind of gave up. I decided I could get frustrated or I could accept the fact that I am a Shell Girl through and through. As I came to this conclusion, the sand scrunching through my toes, I felt some peace.
Yep.
Shell Girl.
That’s me and I’m a darn lucky one at that.
Not ten seconds later I glanced down and guess what met my gaze?
A shark tooth!
A few yards later, I spotted another one.
Then it dawned on me! I am not a Shell Girl, but I’m also not a shark tooth hunter.
Language and expectations limit us.
Maybe the truth of who we are lies within the in-between.
The less we know, the more we are.
