I just need to stop

I see stories everywhere. Almost to a fault. People, images, sounds, and thoughts assault my mind and it runs wild with the possibility of this or that. That’s the goal of every writer, director, actor, musician, and dancer, isn’t it? They want to tell a story that speaks to them and to others with their art.

This past weekend my family and I went to the beach. I sat with my toddler in the sand as the water lapped around us. We laughed and played with shovels and I noted the sand on our wet legs. I don’t mind the sand or getting dirty. It’s easy to wash off.

While we dirtied ourselves, I looked at my husband in the ocean with our two older children. He held both of them in his arms. Over the sounds of the sea I heard him point out every wave that approached. They waited. They watched. As the tide drew back into a wall of water that would knock them over, he jumped over the wave, rescuing them. The water sloshed and sprayed my children, which delighted them further. I lost count of how many times he carried them over the dips and peaks.

I saw a metaphor there and my mind started to weave the way that it does. Then I stopped myself. This scene was perfect as is. I didn’t need to twist it with my fiction. Later we all gathered on our beach towels and rested under the umbrella. I delegated juice boxes and partially sandy snacks. I looked at my husband and noticed the sand that clung to his feet and shins just as it stuck to mine.  I smiled at him.

“What’s that smile about?” he asked.

“This story book kind of day.”