Every morning, my dog wakes me up early. Very early. Unwillingly, I clamber out of bed, pull on my salt-caked shorts and sandals, pack up my bag and head for the dinghy. As I row the half-deflated dinghy from my sailing boat to the shore, Luna the dog balances on its side. She wants to be the first on land, and she wants to be as close to her destination as possible. She fidgets. She almost falls into the sea. When we reach the shore, she jumps out, darts to the nearest rock pool and… she stares at the miniature sea critters in the shallows. Immediately she is entranced. I have basically woken up, dragged myself out of bed, and rowed to shore so my dog could stare at the sea! She is going to get those critters, she will. One of these days. Most definitely.
I grumble, but I am grateful to my dog. Every morning we do this and every morning I see something beautiful or amazing. Today, the sea is perfectly still. The sun rises above pine trees. Fish jump out of the water, trying to escape becoming breakfast. The bay is quiet.
Wait a second, what is this then? A bunch of guys on a small motor yacht are awake, group-peeing into the sea. They speak in loud, rough voices. Someone comes dashing into the bay on a jetski. I am appalled. What is going on here? It is way to early for any of that!
Besides, this was supposed to be my quiet morning moment. I was going to write about stillness. My dinghy now rocks on the waves of the jetski, coming too close for my comfort to the jaggy shore. Luna comes out of her trance to shake water off her hair right next to me, then darts across the rocks to start butchering a dead seagull.
Sigh.
In the blink of an eye, expected turns into unexpected. But there is no point in brooding. I stop my train of thoughts.
Luna is back in the sea. Cicadas buzz. Small tern birds are flying above pine trees. Sun shines gently on my face.
Moments come and go and they cannot always be what we want them to be. Heck, they are rarely what we want them to be. They are what they are. Importantly, however, they are what we have. If we discard a moment or a few (or heavens forbid a lot) because they are not to our satisfaction, are we not discarding the precious time of our lives? We only have a limited number of moments to live, I hate the thought of wasting them by wishing they were different.
Somewhere in the distance a boat travels, sound of its engine reaching me across the water. From a village several miles away, church bell rings softly. My belly rumbles. I laugh out loud.
On my way back to the boat, I watch those guys on their motor-yacht struggle to get their anchor pulled out. It’s stuck under a rock. I feel for them. They struggle some more. Finally, one jumps into the sea and helps free the anchor. As they motor out of the bay I wish them luck.
The sun is now high in the sky even though it’s only 7:30 am. It’s getting hot and it’s time for the morning swim. The rumbling belly can wait a bit longer, can’t it?