AT THE END OF THE ROAD – AT THE END OF THE WORLD

Typically the end of the road lies where the land meets the sea, where there is no land on the horizon, where water is the horizon. To stand at the transition point from earth to water brings fear and wonder, perhaps longing. To act on any of these feelings would mean to swim or travel by water by any means, to get wet. To where? For how long? Might I drown? Probably. What if I go out and change my mind? Do I go back the way I came? Would my life be any different? Could I go back to different places and times in my life? Would anything have changed? Would I have changed? Is there any reason to go back? Where do I go from here?

A long time ago during my younger travels, I found myself on an isolated beach at the end of the world, where the land met the sky. Life was reasonably good. I saw a future. I was free to do as I pleased. I could stand barefoot on a beach, just out of reach of the waves. I could undress and neatly fold my clothes and place the bundle on top of my shoes, far enough away from the waves or high tide when it comes, so that they might be found. I’d walk back to waters edge and keep going until I had to swim. I’d swim until my bundle on the beach became very small. I am not a good swimmer so fear creeps in and I tread water, swirling around, trying to make up my mind. I would hear a ripple and splash on an eerily calm sea. I would spin again to see the shiny head and big black eyes of a seal being very still. The seal dropped below the surface and reappeared without a ripple not ten feet from me. It looked sad, as if to ask me what I was doing. It ducked again. I waited. It never resurfaced. I swam back to where I could walk back to my bundle. I got dressed and walked back to my car on the sand, away from the water, away from the edge.

The end of the world is usually featured on maps as a destination, a feature with a souvenir shop and a bad, overpriced restaurant. At the end of the world someone will have discarded a cigarette end or twelve and an empty beer can or twelve. Someone may have tagged some illiterate and miserable messages on something beautiful and pristine.

At the end of the world, at the end of the road we have to decide whether to go on, to walk, run or swim, to ride or drive in either direction or to disappear or sink into the abyss. It’s good to have choices.

Make them count.