© 2023 Dean William Rudoy, PhD
Some time ago, I was at the Pacific Ocean. As I stood on the beach, watching the waves advance and retreat on the sand, a stone washed up. I reached down and picked it up. It was all wet, shiny-black, slick, and beautiful. I wondered what it looked like at the beginning of its long journey to my feet: how many encounters it must have had to smooth its rough edges on its way to being round, how much pain it must have felt, how it must have been consoled by the water that washed over it. As it dried in my hand, I found that it wasn’t entirely smooth at all. Its journey was not yet complete.
I gave the stone away to someone I met who I thought could use it. I told her to hold the stone with care in gentle moments—breathing in and out, keeping time with the ocean waves—to wash it and see how it shines—to rub it vigorously in moments of anger and pain. As you do these things, I told her, the stone will be reminded of how other stones banged up against it and smoothed and burnished it and how the waters soothed it and polished it as it traveled across the ocean floor. I told her that this stone knows a lot about this hard, sweet life—just like you.
I don’t know what became of her or the stone. But I like to think that they became good friends.
Dean Rudoy is author of Emissaries: Stories and Reflections
“a quiet book for chaotic times”.