Sometimes, when you walk in the sand, you leave footprints.

You can see where you walked. And others can see too and maybe know something about your direction and maybe your stride and maybe even your shoe preference.

Other times, the sand is too soft, and your footprints just become a jumble of rises and dips along with all the other footprints left by people who’ve passed the same way.

Or maybe you leave footprints, but then the tide comes in and smooths them over, leaving no trace that you – or anyone else – with or without shoes – striding or running or accompanied by a dog or stopping for a photo – had ever been there.

Which is OK.

Leaving a trace isn’t always necessary.

Having walked on the beach is enough. 

Which brings me to life. Because I just had another birthday. And it makes me think about striding through life and leaving a trail. Or not.

My dad is in his 90s and has made it a focus to write down the things he accomplished in his career so that his children, grandchildren, great grandchildren and beyond will know what otherwise might be forgotten but what was so very important to him, and what made such a very big difference to those he was working with and beyond.

My mom is in her 90s and we were her career. We are the walking, talking, living, breathing footprints she left in the sand.

I am no longer middle age. I am, in fact, getting closer and closer to old age.

It might be said I am striding there.

But whether or not I leave a trail is something only the sand and the sea controls.

I write, I photograph, I leave my thoughts and the sights I’ve loved for others in case they are interested.

But whether or not those footprints remain when I’m gone, it is a gift to have walked in each place that was open to me.

Walking on the beach – or through the town or up a mountain – is its own kind of reward.

Whether you’re listening to waves crashing along the shore or watching people hurry to their appointments or seeing clouds forming over peaks or any other adventure life brings, you’re seeing and feeling and experiencing. 

You’re living.

On a recent trip to Southern California, I had some time to kill and just started walking along the beach. No destination in mind. Just the beach. I couldn’t see beyond the point but once I reached it, there indeed was a way around. 

I took it.

The next point was clearly impossible to navigate due to a cliff, but I found a trail that went up to the top of the hill just a bit inland, and then all around the point.

When I reached an interpretive center at the top, I learned from the docent that there was a route down the other side of the hill to some tide pools.

I followed it.

When I reached the tide pools, a pair of volunteers told me that there were not only tide pools to see, but there was a trail to a cave once used by pirates and smugglers.

I headed out for it.

When the trail got rocky and I figured it would just take too long and turned around, some others on the trail encouraged me to try again.

I tried it again. 

The reward was indeed a large cave, with a passage to two openings, and waves crashing into the rocks strewn at the mouth.

It took my breath away. 

And it made me so, so very glad I’d walked the miles I had that day and asked for guidance from those more experienced and received encouragement from those more confident.

I left no trace of my steps on the shore, but the steps left a trace on me.