Catching the Wavelength

It started at the beach.

When you're in a bathing suit, it helps to have something else to keep your mind on. Even when you're with people you love or are comfortable with, you're baring a lot. Don't get me wrong; I'm trying to get to that place where I simply don't care anymore, but it's tough. I often find myself adjusting my posture, pulling the fabric, sucking in. It's exhausting.

I was in the midst of this whole inner monologue when my boyfriend suggested a walk along the water. I hadn't seen the entirety of the beach since this was my first vacation here with him, so I agreed. Slipping off my flipflops to walk more steadily (and to stop flicking sand up at myself), I looked over at Matt.

He was pulling a plastic bag out of his swim trunks.

"What's that for?" I asked.

"You know. If we see any trash or something along the way."

I was kind of dumbstruck. That was so thoughtful and nonchalant; it was something simple that he had just intended to do and that he probably wouldn't have even mentioned if I hadn't asked. It went beyond my natural instinct to carry any waste with my until I could find a trashcan or reach the house. It was taking an initiative to proactively better a shared (and irreplaceable) landscape.

"Great idea," I said, and we linked arms.

By the time we had reached the turning back point, our bag was a huge amorphous blob with its plastic sides jutting out in strange trash angles. It was shocking to go from passively appreciating the blurred edges of sand and rushing waves to stopping to grab a pop of red plastic from a solo cup or the shriveled navy of a popped balloon every few feet. Not only did we find the chewed remains of what the ocean had spit back out, but also entire lunch spreads with Styrofoam trays cleaned by gulls and forks long forgotten.

I had stopped caring about how my body might looking traipsing along the beach. If I was jiggling, it was because I was hopping up the dune for a tossed straw; if I had rolls, it was because I was bending over to grab a long ago emptied beer can. I was simply happy because I was at the beach, and I was making it more beautiful.

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Back at home in San Diego, we decided to make a habit of hiking once a week. Pandemic complications kept us inside so much, and it would be criminal to miss out on the incredible variety of nature around us. We carried our freshly filled water bottles (seriously this is the easiest part; don't buy plastic ones) and smiled our sunscreened faces at the mountain just above. Matt started ahead, and I yelled for him to wait a second.

"You okay?"

"Yeah!" I held up what I had stopped to pull out of my backpack.

"Great idea," he said, and grinned, waiting for me as I hurried forward with the swishing garbage bag in my hand.

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Some things we've found since:

• a retainer (my mother would have killed me for losing this)
• SO. MANY. PLASTIC. DOG. POOP. BAGS.
• a tampon applicator (honey, I am sorry for the timing, but come on)
• contact lens solution bottles (how much are you using on a hike?)
• half a pair of glasses (hope you made it home safely!)
• a lot of love for the natural spaces we have--let's try to keep them for a while.