My mother loves the beach.
That means a few vacations, and some nice childhood memories associated with the sound of the waves, the feeling of sand beneath my feet, and hours spent in or near the water.
At the water's edge, there is peace and immense beauty. When a storm rolls over the water, you can see first-hand the incredible power of it as well. So much of the beach can be a life lesson.
The Beautiful
Part of the adventure as a kid was the quest to find the perfect shell. A big, perfect shell like so many I have seen in beach stores or in photos, but had never really seen in person.
Walking along the shore looking down at the sand, shells are plentiful. They have various shapes, and muted colors, but there’s always some chip, or crack, a hole– something that kept my quest for the perfect shell alive across various trips and holidays spanning the years.
One day, when I was about five, I found the shell. It was every bit as perfect as I hoped. The shape, without flaw. The exterior is a swirl of beautiful, vibrant colors with a glossy glaze over the exterior.
The Broken
The joy that I expected to find was missing. It was almost as if the shell was too perfect, too flawless. It looked as though it could have been manufactured, completely free from any defect.
After all of my searching, what was missing? Why did it not feel complete?
Then it hit me. With all of its flawless beauty, the perfect shell was– boring. I realized that something so imperfect and beautiful gives little satisfaction. Then, a moment later, I picked up the perfect shell for the first time. It fell apart. Beneath the sand and beyond my view, it was broken. The beautiful exterior was now cracked and shattered. I thought about how with one careless step, one sudden drop, how easy it is for a delicate beauty to break. The shell, once a perfect embodiment of of nature’s artistry, now debris, pieces of something that once was.
I looked down at the pieces of my “formerly” perfect shell. I saw the smooth interior that was hidden before. I saw the sharp edges, and realized that one shell had now become multiple. In breaking, something beautiful took a new form, given new life.
I sat in the sand, looking at my newly broken treasure, and opened my hand to reveal the other shells I’d found that day. The perfect shell was obviously 'better' than the pieces I had found... But then I looked closer.
One of the shells had been completely eroded. It was just the spiral that remained– a fragment of the interior that you normally couldn’t see. From one angle, it looked a bit like a rose, From another, maybe a bit like a spiral staircase. But it certainly didn’t look like what you’d picture a perfect shell to be.
Perfection in The Flaws
These pieces of shells, the broken menagerie, had character. Each one has its own distinct story. How was it broken? How many years had the movement of the waves worn away the edges to create the smooth surface on this broken shell? Looking at imperfection meant looking at the shell's history, the impact of its travel, the stories of its adventures and misadventures.
That was when I fully grasped the beauty of it. As is true in life, adventure is the true fun. A view of perfection is a moment trapped in time. There is no story to be uncovered, no lesson to be learned.
This reminded me of things beyond shells. At the time, I had just learned that when scientists study dolphins and manatees, they are named and tracked. How do they tell one manatee from the next? They look for the markings– boat-strike scars. When you think about what happened to leave that mark, it is a tragic thought. Then, you realize that the scars set them apart from each other in the most beautiful way possible. The healed wounds become part of their identity, a map of survival etched into their physical body. Each scar tells a story of survival. What was once a moment of pain transforms into something unique, something that makes them recognizable and unforgettable.
Making The Broken Beautiful
We are shaped by our experiences. We are forged in the fire of our challenges, but ultimately we define who we are. Our scars, visible or not, are part of who we are. These scars do not tell our entire story, but they are a piece of it.
We don't need to highlight our flaws, like a piece of Kintsugi. However, we can recognize and embrace them as evidence of the journey. The beautiful, when broken, only serves to reveal a deeper and more meaningful beauty. And by twisting the broken into something beautiful, we can learn that imperfection is a sign of transformation, and of resilience. By changing our perspective, we can see the added depth, telling a story that perfection never could. And so, the seemingly perfect shell, in revealing its imperfections, taught me a valuable lesson; rather than hiding our flaws or erasing our past, we can recognize them as part of our unique beauty. We, in our imperfections, are no less whole.