Sea shells by the sea shore...broken and whole...

While in California, I spent a good amount of time on the beach. I simply love the feel of the saltwater air, an incredible mist that settles on the skin...I love the feeling of the sand under my feet and the sound of the roaring waves.

One of my favorite things to do on the beach is to just walk along the water's edge and collect sea shells. I would say as a general rule, if you and I walked together along the beach collecting sea shells, we would probably not pick the same ones to keep.

I prefer the broken sea shells. I am attracted to the shells that have been battered and broken by the sea; those that have been trampled underfoot; the ones that have been tumbled along the ocean floor, only to arrive on the beach perfectly smooth.

I see the broken shells...and I can clearly see their potential. They are so much more easily turned into something more...this one can become a pendant, and these will make great beads. Their sharp edges and irregularities display so much character...how did this shell end up this odd shape? Why is it broken perfectly in half? How did this shell end up with a single perfect hole right in the middle?

Yes, the unbroken shells are beautiful....gorgeous. But the way I see them, they require much more work to become something more. Some need holes drilled into them to string, others are better broken into pieces and tumbled.

The way I see it...I like the broken shells better because I see myself as one of those broken shells. I may be broken in places, but there is a reason for it. And all the pieces reflect my character...each irregularity is another facet of my own self. The sharp edges have been worn down by the constant beating of the waves, until finally I have ended up an entirely different being washed up on the beach. No longer broken, just new pieces of me...

New pieces that are more easily made into something more than I ever thought possible.