Sometimes life pulls us toward exactly where we need to be.
This past week, that pull led me to the Oregon coast. To those dramatic cliffsides where the ocean meets ancient rock with such beautiful violence that you can’t help but stop and admire it.
I stood there for hours, watching the waves crash, fold, and retreat. Over and over while smashing into the beautiful rock formations. Each one different, yet following the same ancient rhythm. And in that rhythm, I found something without even knowing I was looking.
The Delicate Dance of Chaos
There’s something humbling about standing in front of the ocean. It reminds us how small we are, how temporary our problems feel against the backdrop of forces that have been at work for millions of years.
The cliffsides along the Oregon coast are symbols to this truth. Massive. Imposing. Seemingly permanent.
Yet they’re losing their battle with the sea, grain by grain, moment by moment.
Where some see destruction and erosion, I see opportunity. A teaching. The same forces that tear down also create beauty in the world. New beaches, tide pools teeming with life, smooth stones that once were jagged edges.
This is nature’s alchemy. Taking what seems solid and fixed, and transforming it into something fluid and new.
When Bruce Lee Meets the Pacific
Standing there, feeling the spray on my face, Bruce Lee’s words came flooding back into my mind:
“Empty your mind, be formless, shapeless—like water. You put water into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle, it becomes the bottle. You put it in a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Water can flow or it can crash. Be water, my friend.”
But here’s what Bruce didn’t tell us. That being water isn’t just about adaptability. It’s about knowing when to gather your strength, when to crash with full force, and when to retreat and renew.
The ocean knows this dance intimately. Each wave is a master class in emotional intelligence if we’re paying attention.
The Pattern Hidden in Plain Sight
After hours of watching, I started to see it. The pattern that was teaching me how to work with my own inner storms.
Watch any wave closely and you’ll notice it follows a sacred sequence:
First, it gathers energy far out at sea, while building, collecting, preparing its form. This is how our emotions form too, deep in our unconscious, gathering experiences and memories like the ocean gathers wind and current.
Then comes the moment of truth. The wave reaches shallow water and has no choice but to rise, to reveal its full power. It crashes, spectacular, violent, but necessary. Not because it wants to destroy, but because this is how energy transforms. This is how it completes its purpose.
But here’s the part we often miss: After the crash comes the spreading. The water doesn’t fight to stay in wave form. It releases, flowing thin across the sand, finding every groove, filling every depression. Complete surrender to everything around it.
And then, this is the miracle happens. It pulls back to reveal something new. The beach is different. Renewed. Clean. Ready for the next wave or passerby to write its story.
Becoming the Shore, Not the Cliff
For years, I’ve been just like the cliff. Standing rigid against every emotional wave, proud of my resistance, my ability to “stay strong.” But cliffs don’t stay strong, they slowly crumble under the constant pressure.
Well, what if we became the shore instead?
The shore doesn’t resist the waves. It receives them, lets them do their work, and emerges renewed each time. It understands something the cliff doesn’t: transformation isn’t destruction, it’s evolution.
A Practice Born from Salt and Spray
That day on the Oregon coast, I developed new insights and a small practice. Not a complicated meditation or a lengthy ritual. Just a simple way of working with difficult emotions and using the ocean as my teacher.
When I feel that familiar gathering, anxiety building in my chest, sadness rising in my throat, I remember the waves.
I find a window, a door, or even just picture a mental image of the ocean. I breathe in slowly, gathering all that emotional energy like a wave building strength. I don’t judge it or try to calm it. I let it build.
Then I exhale with intention, not forcing, but releasing like a wave finally meeting the shore. I imagine all that gathered emotion spreading out, dissipating, finding its natural places to be. It will all reside at the places it was meant to.
In the pause before the next breath, I feel the renewal. The clean space left behind. The shore after the wave has done its work.
Three breaths like this, maybe five. That’s all it takes to shift from being the rigid cliff to being the new shore.
The Bigger Performance
What strikes me most about this whole experience is realizing we’re part of a performance that’s been going on long before we arrived. The ocean and cliffs have been dancing this dance for millions of years. The rhythm of these waves has always been teaching anyone willing to watch.
We get so caught up in our individual dramas, our personal storms, that we forget we’re part of something infinitely larger and wiser. The same forces that carved the Grand Canyon and raised the mountains we all see are at work in our emotional landscapes.
We’re not meant to control these powerful forces. We’re meant to learn their rhythm and dance along with them.
What Remains When the Tide Goes Out
After some time watching the tides, something shifted in me. Not dramatically, more like how the shoreline changes, imperceptibly but undeniably.
I’m learning that release doesn’t mean loss. When the wave retreats, it doesn’t disappear, it rejoins the ocean, ready to return in a new form.
Our emotions work the same way. When we release anger, it might return as clarity. When we let go of sadness, it might come back as compassion.
The beach doesn’t mourn the wave that just left because it knows another is already on its way. It’s a delicate and graceful dance. Each wave brings something new. A shell, a piece of driftwood, an agate or a beautiful stone. But, each one takes something away, shells, old footprints, yesterday’s sandcastles.
This is the work. This constant exchange. This agreement is shaped by forces we don’t control, but we can learn to trust.
The Seeds That Survive the Salt
Every place teaches us something new if we’re willing to be students. The Oregon coast taught me that power and grace aren’t opposites; they’re dance partners. That destruction and creation are just different verses of the same song.
Most importantly, it taught me that we don’t have to be cliffs, standing rigid until we crumble. We can be water, flowing around obstacles. We can be shores, renewed by every wave. We can be part of the dance instead of resisting the music.
Nature doesn’t hurry, yet everything gets accomplished. The tides don’t stress about their schedule, yet they never miss their appointment with the shore.
Maybe that’s the deepest teaching: Trust the rhythm the universe is showing us. Work with the forces, not against them. Let yourself be shaped by something greater than our small, stubborn will.
The ocean is patient. It knows that given enough time, even the hardest rock becomes the softest sand. Given enough waves, even the most resistant heart learns to flow.
What places in nature call to you when the waves within become too much to hold?
I’d love to hear about your sacred spaces, the places where you go to remember that we’re all part of this beautiful, chaotic dance.
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