Margate City, New Jersey

                                      

Sappy Life Time Channel Moments

 

                         

     I've come to the conclusion that I am destined to become a disheveled fisherman on a rickety old fishing rig with a six pack tucked underneath my fold up lawn chair and a sea salt encrusted radio blaring 60's/70's one hit wonders behind me as I cast out my line for the millionth time that day.  That image has soaked into my sub-consciousness since our arrival here in Margate City.  It's a nice suburb town, but nothing that would differentiate itself from the usual sea side attractions you tend to run across.  What really gives it its tantalizing flair is its proximity to the beach, and what a beach it is. 

    
     Don't get me wrong; I realize there are infinitesimally better beaches in other tourist trap towns that exceed the beauty of this one.  However, since being on this trip, I have come to truly appreciate the small wonders that we all take for granted due to certain luxuries and accommodations. 
    
     When I decided to go for a run on that beach, I was lost in some cringe worthy sappy emotions as my lungs bulged with the sweet sea breeze and my skin lapped up the addictive rays of the evening sun.  I wasn't surprised when my skin felt as if it was on fire, due to the lack of exposure since we set out on our journey. 

     And, with a primal urge that overtook my still introverted demeanor around complete strangers sauntering on the beach,  I unleashed a guttural challenge to the frothing ocean sheets receding back and forth on the beach sand that managed to somehow expel all of my pent up anguish about various things, as if yanking the stopper in a sink and witnessing all that build up of toxic sludge just spiral down the drain, leaving a sparkling porcelin bowl in which to dump the next load of thoughts into; ready to start again replenished and invigorated.
     
     I don't need a therapist. I already have myself.  I just desperately pined for the right catalyst to ignite that fuse towards my eventual catharsis.  It's almost embarrassingly beautiful how such a simple landscape can have such a soothing impact on the things I deemed stressors in my life, and from then on I cared less about trivial matters that would normally invite an overly saturated level of negative self critique.
    
     Take my on going weight loss struggle, as an example. My first day on this magnificent stretch of sand and I manage to clock in at a 6:50 mile average during my jog, and yet the external signs of my athletic progress are abysmal.  I criticize my failure every day in whatever available mirror I catch my reflection in, and then my sink begins to accumulate a fresh layer of self doubt and sickening pity. 
     
     The next day, while on my way over to the beach for my next jog, two fairly attractive females pulled up next to the stop sign I had just passed and decided to yell out in unison, "Fat-Ass!", followed by a peeling out with audible cackling emanating from the car.  Now I don't honestly know if they saw something that warranted a response of that nature,  or if they were just messing with whomever crossed their path. Regardless of that, it prompted me to wonder in my head, How could something so outwardly beautiful project such a grossly hateful exclamation towards someone who is desperately striving to change their image towards something acceptable in their eyes?"
   
      ...And yet when I stepped out onto that sand, my toes forming fists and clenching the sand encrusted shattered shells littered across the dunes,  I realized that I had finally discovered my answer.  It certainly didn't justify their actions, but instead unraveled a plan for my response to these negative empty painted shells:

     I care about me,

       Not you or your judgments,

 

      And as long as I am constructively improving myself  in whatever way I can,

 

 I am content with me, and that is the single greatest weight off of  my shoulders.

      It's funny: you hear countless throngs of people preaching this sappy verbal discharge to the innumerable helpless schmucks stuck in various ruts, and yet the words are somehow transcendent once you are dipped in that blissfully relaxing eureka moment, yourself.  At this point, this stretch of sand on the border of Margate City in New Jersey has given me a gift that will never be equaled, and I'd be remiss if I said I wouldn't miss that golden, ocean washed stretch of pavement.