Yesterday I stood at the edge of the Atlantic Ocean during a stormy sunrise. The beach on the Outer Banks of North Carolina stretched out of sight in both directions. The deep blue clouds, lighted from above were a thing of rare beauty. The strong, gusty winds pushed me around like one of the few brave seagulls. But what overwhelmed me most was the inescapable salty aroma that heralded the transition from continent to ocean, the edge of two very different worlds that touch at the thin coastal line.
These two worlds collide at a raw edge that brings constant upheaval to both. It is a place of extreme beauty and danger for those who dwell on the land and those who traverse the seas. In centuries past, many seafarers, hoping for solid ground, met their end in an unhappy transition from one to the other. This “Graveyard of the Atlantic “ has an auspicious reputation. The lure of the salty surf claims more unwary land dwellers each weekend than all the inland waterways of this enormous continent.
What draws us to this edge? What intensifies its appeal? Why leave the relative safety of the familiar to gaze upon the chasm? It seems we are helpless to resist the vastness of the unknown, the longing for transition. From the womb into the larger world, from childhood to adolescence, marriage, parenthood pull us in like gravity. There at the edge we inhale the aroma that tells us we are alive. We see the unsettling dangers – both beautiful and frightening. We wade in… and lose forever our familiar past.