What New Beginnings Look Like
As 2019 was coming to its end, I could almost hear the door slamming on the exiting decade and, with it, the closing bang of what I call, for lack of better words, a personal transformational cycle. After several, occasionally challenging, years of soul searching, there was unprecedented relief, eudaimonia, a tremolo in my heart, and determination to step into the unknown with renewed passion – as if falling in love for the first time. Still, as I looked ahead towards the dawn of the new era, I could detect only some vague outlines amidst a shapeless void. Nothing concrete, nothing real. It was not a sinister vision, yet it was elusive and impalpable, for new beginnings are amorphous and always uneasy. I stood motionless, in need of an image, tangible and familiar, to give form to this shapeshifting boggart, and unexpectedly I recalled a morning by the Kite Beach in Dubai, at the end of another cycle, when, once more, I was full of questions, and answers remained stubbornly clutched to their slippery nature.
I remember, it was September, just a bit after daybreak, when I left my car under the protective shadow of the nearby mosque and headed to the shore, my toes sinking softly into the muddy sand. The evening tide had left behind a large, wet zone, shining now as if glazed under the pearly glare of the morning sky. Shells were scattered around, mostly clams of different colours and shapes, some basking like half-opened mouths, others fully stretched resembling butterfly stamps on childish drawings.
I stepped into the water, and the sea had a quicksilver quality: an almost tangible density. There were no ripples on the surface, but for the temporary swelling caused by my presence. The air itself was dense and heavy, and life seemed to unfold behind glass, with me lingering in an alien void, disconnected, detached, and surrounded by such stillness that even the soft ebbs and tides of breathing were absent.
A couple of figures appeared behind the jetty. They silhouetted against the overcast sky, their outlines fast sketched in the morning haste. For a moment, they seemed to be walking on water, but I soon realised they were just stand-up paddling. They were not far, and yet, no sound emerged from their passing. A motorboat crossed a bit further away, its swift movement being similarly inaudible, almost dreamlike. The welcoming curve of Burj Al Arab’s sail was barely visible – just a lighter brush floating in the air, painted as if by mistake. There were no seagulls, planes, or fishermen, not even the usual humming of the ongoing construction activity, so typical of Dubai that its mere absence was, by itself, unreal.
The sea merged with the sky into blurriness, erasing any sense of perspective. The star-like edges of a few, yellow buoys failed to provide a point of reference towards the skyline, creating, instead, an optical illusion of a two-dimensional canvas. There was no horizon – not even the feeling of a horizon – and I kept floating in the middle of nowhere, where sight finds no focus and sound does not travel.
Suddenly, I was startled by a few foam fish jumping in front of my eyes, and a seagull fluttered squawking, the edge of its wings scarring, temporarily, the surface of the water. The motorboat passed again, the loud buzz of its engine clearly detectable this time, as was the soft creaking of the buoys that danced – like party hats – with the wake. I looked around. The sea that had been so still before had now come to life, its inhale and exhale distinctively palpable, ending into a soft surf. There were sounds and movements, and despite my careful observation, the shifts had unravelled at such a gradual pace that the altered shade of the water, plainly distinct now from the looming horizon, caught me unawares.
Behind me, at the shore, the familiar skyline of Dubai’s skyscrapers and Burj Khalifa’s phallic shape emerged like shadows through of the misty blur. By contrast, the nearby mosque clearly stood out with its vivid ochre walls and decorated dome, its strong presence protecting my back – by coincidence or design – in the disorientating vagueness of the morning sea.
As I retraced my steps and stood firmly again on the ground, I remember I felt cleansed and relaxed, and despite the lack of clarity, I was at peace. Today, at the brink of a new era with thousands of answers that remain elusive, I bring to mind that morning – the stillness that turned into life, the shapelessness that found its form, all under the guidance of forces larger than me – and finally, I know what new beginnings look like. They are not scary; they are not even uncomfortable. They are just like dipping one’s self into the sea: a sensual and mystical unfolding.
Backed by this newfound awareness, I look at the future with calmness, for, perhaps, the answers are not ours to find. They exist on their own, autonomous and free, and they spend their time observing our moves, monitoring our thoughts, prepared to emerge only when they sense that we are worthy of them. They slip away like mist when we try to grab them, but they cheerfully wink to us at the opportune moment. There is relief in this understanding and profound serenity. Ultimately, the journey is not about discovering what lies ahead; it is about becoming ready to receive it.
Photo credits: © Konstantina Sakellariou.
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