I felt stressed when I went down to the beach yesterday.
It was early evening and I had just pushed through several hours of work without stopping. This happens sometimes. It’s about hyperfocus, and it’s also about rushing, pace, getting things done, ‘achieving’. It’s useful sometimes, but more often than not leaves me in a bad state.
It was still, barely a breath of wind, and the sun was beginning to set. When I got to the top of the beach, I saw a solid set of waves breaking on the shingle. The tide was too high to surf, but this was clearly one of the biggest and best swells for days, if not weeks, and I’d missed it. I’d missed my opportunity to get into the sea and ride its energy, and this didn’t help my mood. Neither did looking on my surf forecasting app and seeing that the swell period was peaking at nine seconds. At quality surf spots around the world, nine seconds is nothing to boast about. But where I live in Brighton, it’s a good swell period for surfing, especially without wind.
A swell like this – formed from the effect of wind on water many hundreds or thousands of miles away – is called a groundswell. Over distance, the waves in the swell combine into groups called ‘sets’ of bigger more powerful waves, separated by ‘lulls’ of smaller less powerful waves. The distance between the crests of waves is the wavelength – longer wavelengths carry more energy, making for better waves for surfing. The ‘period’ is the time measured in seconds between wave crests at a fixed point – in my case, the shoreline. Each of the waves in the sets today was crashing onto the beach every nine seconds. A cracking, booming sound with a rush of shingle dragged back with the foam.
I walked down anyway, my mood still heavy, and sat on the shingle. I tried to meditate on the sound of the waves, but found it difficult to slow my breathing.
Suddenly I realised this situation was telling me two important things.
First, that I could take the longer wavelengths as an invitation. I could slow my breathing down to match the swell period. My inbreaths reduced in frequency to around six inbreaths per minute. This was my breath telling my body that it was safe, there was no threat here. I could turn off the fight or flight systems that were leading to my anxious feelings.
Second, it reminded me what rushing and pace often felt like. It felt like a short wavelength swell, often called a ‘windswell’. A sea which is confused, choppy, messy, and in physical terms weaker and less powerful. Unsurfable.
In contrast today was – in surfing terms – lined up. Solid, powerful, and packing a punch. Waves that carried a deeper energy. Grounded, instead of windblown.
I felt immediately better, and deeply grateful for the opportunity to be able to sit by the sea at the end of the day. And for the lesson in being aware, slowing down, and staying grounded. Today I will stop to check out the waves.
What’s your wavelength? How could your relationship to nature help you become more grounded? Get in touch if you’d like to experience nature connected coaching.
And find out more about forthcoming Nature Based Coach training – a fabulous opportunity to strengthen your connection to nature, so you can better serve your clients and the world.