Treasure Hunting

This morning, I decided to go to the beach.

There was no real agenda. I wasn’t going to look for shark teeth or seashells. I wasn’t going for exercise or because I had something I needed to figure out.

I simply wanted to be near the ocean.

As I crossed the bridge, I noticed a double rainbow cascading across this bright blue sky—almost like an invitation.

Come see what treasures the beach has to offer today.

I’ve been here many times, and I’ve watched people walk the shoreline with their eyes pointed toward the sand, looking for treasures. Shark teeth. Seashells. Those little discoveries you pick up and carry home with you.

I saw plenty of shells this morning. I even saw some shark teeth.

I just didn’t collect them.

That wasn’t what I was there for.

Instead, as I walked, I found myself noticing something else.

The beach has so many treasures to offer when we stop looking so closely for one particular thing and zoom out enough to see everything else.

I noticed people simply enjoying their morning. Walking, laughing, fishing, sitting quietly.

Doing something that, at least for this moment, seemed to bring them pleasure.

I noticed the different textures of the sand beneath my feet.

The smell of the salty air.

The warmth of the sun.

The temperature of the ocean as the water washed over my feet.

Dragonflies dancing through the air.

A gentle breeze moving across my skin.

The little birds scampering across the sand.

And the ocean itself.

How something can feel so powerful and peaceful at exactly the same time.

Then I noticed what was happening within me.

My shoulders had softened.

My breathing had changed.

My mind was quieter.

My entire body seemed to settle into an ease that I hadn't consciously asked it to find.

Simply being there was enough.

And I felt incredibly grateful.

Grateful that I live close enough to such a beautiful place that I can wake up one morning and decide, I think I’ll go walk by the ocean.

Grateful for a body that allows me to walk the shoreline and soak it all in.

Grateful that there was nowhere else I needed to be in that moment.

And grateful for the realization that there were treasures everywhere.

I just had to be present enough to experience them.

As I was getting ready to leave, I heard someone nearby say,

“Now if we could only see dolphins.”

I smiled because, if I’m being honest, I wanted to see them too.

There is something about seeing dolphins that feels special no matter how many times you've seen them. So yes, I had quietly hoped they might make an appearance.

They didn't.

And for some reason, that became part of the realization too.

I could have walked away thinking, I wish I had seen the dolphins.

I could have allowed the one thing I hoped would happen—but didn't—to somehow diminish everything that had.

And isn't that something we do in life?

We can become so focused on one particular outcome that we unknowingly make it the measure of the entire experience.

We decide what the treasure is supposed to look like.

And then we look for it.

The answer.

The opportunity.

The validation.

The outcome.

The thing we believe will tell us, Yes. This is what I was waiting for.

There is nothing wrong with wanting those things.

There was nothing wrong with wanting to see the dolphins.

The difference, I realized this morning, is whether I can want something without allowing its absence to make everything else feel like less.

Maybe that is the difference between always seeking and being willing to receive.

Seeking can narrow our focus.

Receiving asks us to remain open.

Open to the possibility that what is meaningful may not be what we expected.

Open to something we didn't know to look for.

Open to what is already happening while our attention is somewhere off in the distance waiting for something else to appear.

The dolphins didn't need to show up for the morning to be beautiful.

Their absence didn't mean anything was missing.

And that felt important.

Because I think there have been plenty of times in my life when I was so busy looking for the thing I thought I needed that I couldn't fully see what was already there.

Perhaps that's why this morning felt different.

Almost transitional.

Like there had been a subtle shift somewhere inside me.

I hadn't gone to the beach looking for an answer.

I hadn't gone there asking the ocean to give me anything.

I just wanted to be near it.

And maybe because I wasn't asking the morning to become something in particular, I was able to experience more of what it already was.

I zoomed out — And there were treasures everywhere.

It made me wonder what we might see if we did that more often.

You don't have to be walking along a beach.

Maybe it's children playing nearby, completely oblivious to the world around them, reminding you how good it feels to be playful simply because you want to be.

Maybe it's colors you've walked past a hundred times.

Sunlight coming through a window.

A bird singing.

Someone laughing.

The feeling of the ground beneath your feet.

Or perhaps it's noticing yourself.

How does your body feel where you are?

What happens to your breathing?

What happens inside you when, for just a moment, you stop looking for what comes next?

We spend so much of our lives looking.

Looking for answers.

Looking for signs.

Looking for the next step.

Looking for evidence that things are going to work out the way we hope they will.

There are certainly times when we need to look. Times to make decisions, take action, create change, ask for more, walk away or move forward.

But there are also moments when perhaps nothing needs to be found.

We simply need to be open to seeing

.

This morning, I walked past seashells.

I saw shark teeth and left them in the sand for someone else to discover.

The dolphins never appeared.

And still, I left feeling like I had found something.

A double rainbow.

The warmth of the sun.

The smell of salt in the air.

Dragonflies dancing.

Birds scampering across the shoreline.

The strength and peace of the ocean existing together.

My own body softening.

The simple privilege of being there to experience all of it.

Those were the treasures.

And none of them required me to hunt for them.

They only required me to notice.

So wherever you are today, I invite you to zoom out.

Not because you need to find some profound meaning hidden in the moment.

Just look.

Listen.

Feel.

Notice what is already there.

You might be surprised by how much of what you've been searching for isn't somewhere off in the distance at all.

Some of the treasures may already be right there with you.