Why do we throw rocks at the ocean?

A small story about big things + summer update

Every so often, the world can feel so big and we can seem so very small.

Today, a short imagined conversation between a boy and something much bigger than him. Sharing just in case, like me, you feel small and overwhelmed by it all sometimes, too.

I found this old postcard in the New York Public Library archives. It’s been sitting in a folder on my desktop for a while now, quietly working on my imagination.

THE BOY AND THE OCEAN

A boy stood in front of the ocean. 
The ocean waved. 
The boy waved back. 
Then they both pretended it was totally normal. 

"Hello," said the boy. 
"Hello," said the ocean (but only if you listened carefully and the boy really was). 

The boy had questions. Not the 'what's for lunch' kind or 'who would win a fight between a bear and a tornado' kind. The big ones. The late at night ones. The lie on your back and stare at the ceiling ones.

"How deep are you?"
"Very," said the ocean, in its way. 

The boy was impressed. 

"Actually, I should let you know I'm also shallow in some places," said the ocean, not wanting the boy to be too intimidated so soon. "It's called balance."

"Do you ever get tired?" asked the boy. 
"Sometimes," said the ocean. "But then the moon pulls me up again." 

"Do you keep all the things people drop in you?"
"Some things," said the ocean. "Phones, floaties. flip-flops. I give back what I can. The heavier stuff, like guilt and grudges and regrets and stuff, I keep tumbling around until they soften. Eventually, I send it all back as sea glass or sand or something else lighter and surprising." 

The boy nodded, like it made sense. 
Still, he had more questions.

"Are you bigger than the sky?"
"I don't know," said the ocean. "Honestly, we don't compare. We're both trying our best and admire each other from a distance. Occasionally, we trade clouds when we're bored, like notes in class." 

The boy again nodded, mind and heart filling with more questions than ever. 

He looked at the sky.
Then at the ocean. 
Then at his feet. 
Then back at the ocean.

And then, 
because he was a small boy
and because he had big questions and not enough answers, 
because he had more feelings than places to put them, 
because there are so many things he can't change,
because he was angry, 
or sad, 
or hungry,
or maybe a little of it all,

and 
well,  
because the rock was just sitting there, 
he picked it up 
and threw it.

He threw the rock. 

To see what it felt like when 
someone small like him
launched something even smaller 
into something much bigger than he could understand,
he threw the rock.

Into the deep, the rock launched and plopped and vanished.
The boy listened, wondering how far down it might travel.
Unsatisfied, he picked up another rock, 
ready to throw it too. 

"Did you feel that?" the boy asked. 
"Not much," said the ocean. 
"But I saw you throw it."

"I'm so small," said the boy. 
"You are," said the ocean. 

The boy sat with that. 
He felt a new feeling of being both insulted and inspired at the same time. 

"You are small," the ocean continued,
"Yet, you hold such big questions. 
And infinite hopes. 
And so many dreams. that reach places even I can't.
And joy. And wonder. And mystery. 
A little bit of lost. A lot of not knowing. 
You are small, yes. But you're also here. 
And that's no small thing."

The boy didn't answer right away. 
He just let the waves do their waving. 

He thought to himself, 
"Small, yes. But also here. And that's no small thing." 

The waves kept waving. 
The boy stayed a little while longer, 
letting the words land deep inside him.
The huge, huge, hugeness of being here. 
He dipped his toes into the water,  
splashed around,  
laughed,
and enjoyed simply being.... 

.... a small boy ..... 
beside a big ocean ....
....  under a wide sky. 

Maybe that's what we all are, 
tiny somebodies in a vast somewhere, 
gently dipping our toes into the mystery. 
We look for rocks. We long to make ripples.
Slowly, we learn the mystery isn't something to solve
but something to swim in
with our bare feet, 
and our big wonders, 
and big waves. 

Back and forth. 
Back and forth. 
On and on. 
Etc. 
Wow. 

---

ENTHUSIASTS! Writing you today from the U.S. west coast. Though it feels the world is in chaos, I am working on a few project anchored in hope (yay!) and hoping to find breaks to visit the ocean if at all possible.

I hope your summer can include many quiet moments to stand in front of something vast, a moment that makes everything feel a little clearer. If you do, please send me a photo! I’d love to include some in a future edition. I wish you rest, inspiration, and ice cream.

VERY IMPORTANT THINGS! VERY IMPORTANT THINGS! VERY IMPORTANT THINGS!

STORY CONFERENCE!
October 9-10 in Nashville, Tennessee! 
Tickets are available now. This is always an unforgettable experience and I’m excited to be speaking again this year. Can’t wait to finally be all back together live and in person at the beautiful Schermerhorn Symphony Center. 
Reserve your seat here.

PHOTO CHALLENGE! 
If you stand in front of something vast this summer (an ocean, a sky, a canyon, a kid, laundry, whatever!) snap a photo and send it my way! I’m gathering a few for a future edition of The Enthusiast.  

SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL TO WATCH! 
I’ve long admired the work of Ray and Charles Eames. This 1977 film, Powers of Ten, begins with a couple having a picnic and then zooms all the way out into the vastness of space. Feels just right for this week’s theme. 
Watch it here.