Waves of Discovery

As the bus continues towards Grand Isle, the road narrows and we become the only vehicle in sight, drifting further from civilization. All I can see are marshes and the murky sea, with grass that almost seems to hover on top. In the distance, I spot a solitary fishing boat, with a man sitting alone, hard at work trying to catch his latest haul. The houses stand on wooden stilts, as if preparing for the coming storms. I feel as if I’ve been transported to a different time, as the sounds that flood my senses are the waves crashing against the shore and the cicadas in the trees. This is no longer the busy, industrialized city that I left behind. I sit quietly, looking out. The fear of the unknown rises within me and I retreat into myself.

Having not met anyone prior to this experience, I’m nervous about what the next month will look like. Too scared to approach people, I remain quiet. We all sit on the bus in silence, apprehension filling the air, until the radio, blasting through the speakers, starts playing country music. We all listen intently to songs we’ve never heard, as they tell stories of love and heartbreak. It wasn’t until a song about a tractor played that the mood lifted, and I found myself laughing with these strangers, soon to be my friends. The shared experience instantly brought us together, and we made jokes for the rest of the drive.

Life on Grand Isle seems slower, with the long beaches that stretch the island providing a relaxing atmosphere for moments of reflection. On my first day on Grand Isle, I go to the beach, kindle in my hands, feet in the sand, as I look out onto the shore and begin reading Kate Chopin’s The Awakening. Grand Isle serves as the vacation destination for the Pontelliers within the novella, with Edna finding solace in the sea, away from her obligations as a wife and mother. She searches for her own identity and sense of belonging within the book.

“The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in it’s soft, close embrace”
— Kate Chopin

The attachment that Edna feels to the sea entices me, as it holds so much meaning to her and represents the idea of freedom. Back home, I avoid the water—often it is too cold to withstand—and the inability to know what is truly in the waters, combined with watching movies like Jaws growing up, instilled this fear. Today, however, I watch as the sun bounces off the waves, and while the waters aren’t crystal blue, the white foam encroaches closer onto the sand. Hesitancy remains in the back of my mind as I turn the next page of the book.

That evening, we gather as a group, playing cards as we get to know each other better, creating our own little familial bond. While in Grand Isle, the people Edna meets inform her awakening, from the desire she feels when she meets Robert to the influence of Mademoiselle Reisz, an unmarried, childless woman who devotes her life to music and embodies what Edna hopes to someday achieve: independence and freedom. I am a firm believer that people are what make an experience great, and I think this is true for Edna too, as she looks back on Grand Isle fondly, associating it with the start of her liberation.

“I’ve been seeing the waves and the white beaches of Grand Isle; the quiet grassy streets of the Cheniere; the old fort at Grand Terre”
— Kate Chopin

The next morning, after being told of the peace of the sea visible from the porch, I wake up early to meet my new friends as a few of us venture onto the beach, getting closer to the gulf. The water is warmer than I expected and the sand soft on my feet as we walk deeper into the ocean. I submerge myself fully into the salty waves as they try to overpower me, but I stand strong, my eyes stinging from the salt and my hair now messy and wavy. While I didn’t experience any huge revelation, I did find myself in a state of calm, refreshed as I walked further up the beach.

The quick connection that Edna feels to the people in Grand Isle resembles that of my fellow peers, as we all prepare various dishes one evening to create a massive meal with everything you could want. We sit around the table, sharing in the joy of being able to share this experience. Though it has only been three days, I feel like I have known these people all my life. The location of Grand Isle serves as the perfect place to connect with others, with the quiet town allowing for meaningful and deep conversations, as well as moments of silence. Chopin writes in a way that makes Grand Isle a desirable location, and while the beaches aren’t as white as described, Grand Isle provides an ideal setting when you want time to feel like it’s standing still.

“On rainy or melancholy days Edna went out and sought the society of the friends she made at Grand Isle”
— Kate Chopin

I will look back on my time here with feelings of joy, reflecting on the moments shared with my friends, the laughter over songs and terrible movies, and the fascination we held during the thunderstorms—from standing in the pouring rain to going into the sea, which I wouldn’t have done by myself. This experience allowed me to develop a newfound contentment with the ocean and the peace that comes with taking things slower.

The Serenity of the Sea

A journey through "The Awakening" and the Real World

Personal Reflections from Grand Isle

Spending the last few days in Grand Isle has been a transformative experience. The serene beauty of the Gulf Coast provided a perfect backdrop for deep introspection, much like Edna Pontellier’s reflective moments in Kate Chopin’s The Awakening. As I walked along the sandy shores, felt the warm water against my skin, and watched the sun rise and set, I found a sense of peace and clarity. These moments of tranquility allowed me to connect profoundly with the themes of Chopin's novel.

The slower pace of life on Grand Isle mirrored Edna’s journey toward self-discovery and independence. The houses on stilts, standing resilient against the elements, symbolized the strength and adaptability required to navigate life's challenges. This environment, recovering from recent hurricanes yet vibrant with life, echoed the duality present in Edna's experiences – a blend of serenity and turmoil, freedom and confinement.

Evenings were spent in communal joy, sharing meals, playing cards, and engaging in deep conversations. These interactions fostered a sense of community and connection that is often lost in the hustle of city life. The simplicity and authenticity of these moments made me appreciate the importance of slowing down to truly experience and reflect on life, much like Edna does throughout the novel. Living in Grand Isle really made me understand what Ralph Waldo Emerson said about “living deliberately.”

Insights from "The Awakening" and Grand Isle

In The Awakening, the sea represents a powerful metaphor for freedom and risk. For Edna, the sea is a place of solace and a symbol of her desires and self-discovery. This dual nature of the sea – inviting yet perilous – parallels the challenges we face in our personal and professional lives. Just as Edna is drawn to the sea's vast possibilities, we are often drawn to the opportunities that come with taking risks, whether in pursuing our passions or navigating the complexities of the business world.

Edna’s move to the pigeon house is another significant symbol in the novel. It represents her quest for independence, which, while liberating, also reveals new constraints and vulnerabilities. This mirrors the journey many of us undertake in our pursuit of autonomy, be it personal or financial. The pigeon house stands as a reminder that true independence requires careful navigation through potential pitfalls. Pigeons, even if free, can be trapped inside their nest if injured - reflecting Edna’s journey of being trapped and free simultaneously in her own home even after moving to the pigeon house.

One of the novel's most striking moments is Edna’s act of shedding her clothes before her final swim. This gesture symbolizes her rejection of societal expectations and materialistic values, echoing the minimalist philosophy that suggests true contentment comes from embracing simplicity rather than accumulation. This powerful message resonates deeply, urging us to shed excess and focus on what truly matters in life. It’s also a deep reflection of the Victorian era when western societies went through this rapid economic transition resulting in materialism, economic growth, and the flaunting of wealth over anything as we could see through Léonce Pontellier’s (Edna’s husband) lavish spending habits with his furniture, external material, and properties.

Doctor Mandelet’s interactions with Edna and her husband, often seen as "mansplaining," reflect persistent gender dynamics where male authority figures assume a superior understanding of women's experiences. This theme is timeless, as contemporary gender debates in corporate and social settings still grapple with similar issues. Recognizing these dynamics is crucial for fostering genuine equity and understanding in any context.

The bittersweet ending of the novella reflects the duality of life presented in Grand Isle—a place recovering from recent hurricanes, yet alive with the excitement of life. The snowballs, the restaurants, and the changing vibes depending on the season contrasted sharply with the bustling reconstruction efforts in New Orleans. Louisiana, as a state, is perpetually in a cycle of rebuilding and reconstruction, mirroring the economic development and social progress for women and the significant free black population in its history.

Business and Finance Insights

As someone deeply interested in business and finance, these reflections naturally lead to a broader contemplation of how personal awakening and professional pursuits intertwine. The themes explored in The Awakening offer valuable insights into the world of business and finance.

The sea’s metaphor of freedom and risk is akin to the unpredictable currents in financial markets. Opportunities and risks coexist, requiring careful navigation and strategic decision-making. Edna’s move to the pigeon house mirrors the entrepreneurial journey, where the pursuit of autonomy can reveal new challenges and vulnerabilities. It highlights the importance of resilience and adaptability in achieving sustainable success.

Edna’s rejection of materialism in favor of simplicity parallels the minimalist philosophy in modern economics, advocating for a focus on essentials rather than excess. This approach can lead to more sustainable and fulfilling business practices, emphasizing value over volume.

The persistent gender dynamics in The Awakening reflect the ongoing challenges in achieving gender equity in business. Recognizing and addressing these issues is crucial for creating inclusive and equitable work environments.

Edna’s personal journey in "The Awakening" illustrates how individual transformations can spark broader societal changes. This concept is akin to disruptive innovations in business that begin with a single visionary idea and ripple outwards, reshaping entire industries. Edna’s story underscores the power of personal awakening to inspire collective shifts, be it in societal norms or economic paradigms.

The novel also highlights that our opinions and beliefs are deeply rooted in personal experiences. Individuals will always trust their experiences more than they will trust you. Edna’s evolving perspectives on marriage, motherhood, and independence show how diverse experiences shape our worldview. In business and economics, too, personal and professional experiences significantly influence our strategies and decisions, underscoring the importance of diverse perspectives.

A Continuous Journey of Growth

This environment made me ponder the timeless quest to answer fundamental and timeless questions: Who am I? What am I? For much of our lives, we struggle with these questions, often late at night after big realizations. I’ve realized that my life’s journey is about the continuous struggle and growth to figure out who I am. I am not saying this is the right strategy, but it is my strategy. This strategy—having firm guiding principles for life—is something I’ve come to appreciate. Ambiguous or ambivalent principles, as seen with Edna when the sea overtook her, often lead to confusion and a lack of true freedom for oneself. I could be wrong though.

Through personal reflections and professional adventures, I have come to understand that the journey of self-discovery and professional growth are deeply intertwined. Both require resilience, adaptability, and a focus on what truly matters. Just as Edna’s journey in The Awakening inspires profound personal introspection, it also offers valuable lessons for navigating the complexities of the business world.

Grand Isle after Hurricane “Ida”

Getting Older

A few weeks prior to getting on a flight to Louisiana, I remember all I could think about was one thing: humidity. Humidity and I don’t agree with each other and being uncomfortable for more than a few minutes makes me upset, but the swamps and marshes of Louisiana have a way of growing on you.

I’ve been to New Orleans once before in my life, and the extent of it was seeing the Audubon Aquarium and Bourbon Street, which you can imagine is scary to a 14 year old. But I still had high hopes for this trip; the idea of staying in a beach house while also receiving academic credit was very appealing to me, but what I did not expect was to see myself so much in a book that I had never even heard of.

Golden hour at the beach house.

As the city gave way to endless stretches of road and tall cypress trees, we joked on the bus that we were leaving civilization. I noticed the distance between houses getting bigger and bigger, until eventually the suburbs gave way to wetlands. The sky was a light gray, signaling a storm, and I thought about how eerie everything looked; rural Louisiana is a far cry from the busy city I’m used to in LA, but it was a welcome change. I felt a little bit like a child seeing Disneyland for the first time. I saw billboards about crawfish, little shacks on the river's edge advertising fresh seafood, and heard some country music I wasn’t even aware existed, and I say that as someone who does listen to country. The scenery didn’t change much as we got closer and closer to Grand Isle, Louisiana, our destination. In addition to not knowing the book, I had also never heard of Grand Isle and I have to say, it is a treasure.

On Tuesday, our first full day in Grand Isle, I began reading The Awakening by Kate Chopin. This was a book I didn’t know existed before this trip, let alone knew the plot. Little did I know, I would read something written by a woman in the 1890s that would mean so much to me in 2024.

I read on the beach which is something I never get to do, I mean when is the beach right in your backyard? And at first, I wasn’t really sure how I felt about the novel. We meet Edna and her husband, and, of course, Robert who charmed me in about two lines. Edna and her family, along with a few other Creole families, spend much of their summers in Grand Isle, away from the busy city. Reading the story of her journey, in the exact place where she goes through a transformation, is an interesting feeling. Kate Chopin has a way of capturing mundane and often sleepy moments that, in addition to being on the island, help transport you to the setting that Edna is living in. Being on that beach, having quite literally nothing else to do except read and relax, was like nothing I’ve really experienced before.

““The voice of the sea is seductive; never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander for a spell in abysses of solitude...””
— Kate Chopin

I would be a lousy sailor in a greek myth, the siren’s would easily win.

In Grand Isle, the sea really does beckon you to it. During our lectures, next to the big windows of the house, I would catch a glimpse of the tide and think about how nice it would be to go for a swim. The gulf waters of Kate Chopin’s time were most definitely much cleaner than the gulf is today, but regardless I found myself going for a swim when I could. I loved what the ocean represented in this book; Edna’s transformation begins and ends in the ocean and I can see how Grand Isle provides the perfect setting for that. There is nothing in Grand Isle, not back in Edna’s time, and not now. Staring at the ocean, for me, has always been the source of a crisis, existential in nature. The ocean reminds me how small I am in the grand scheme of things and, like Edna, could swallow me whole if I allowed it. In the serenity and desolate nature of the beach, I was forced to do some soul searching; when life slows down, it's much easier for thoughts to creep in, thoughts I try to keep at bay most of the time.

While I’ve only just entered my 20s, I do feel like I have grown more in the past year than I ever have before. When Edna describes everything remaining the same, yet she feels herself different, I feel like she’s just described the past year and a half of my life. I feel like I live the same day over and over, but when I look back on the years, I realize everything has changed, everything about me has changed. As a recent graduate, I acknowledge that I came out a completely different person than I was when I entered college 4 years ago, and I can’t describe how much better I am for it. Like Edna, I feel as though change came suddenly. I realized one day that everyone seemed to know who they were, whether or not this was true, and how much I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know myself and this caused me a lot of inner turmoil because, in my head, how can I not know who I am? I’ve lived with myself for 21 years, I have to know.

““But the beginning of things, of a world especially, is necessarily vague, tangled, chaotic, disturbing.” ”
— Kate Chopin

But this came with time; more time than I wanted, but time that I needed. I think I find something new about myself everyday, and this novel helped me realize how far I’ve come. Edna and I live very different lives but, somehow, I understand exactly what she felt. Realizing you’re changing is never easy and, if you’re like me, you hold tightly to the past, clinging on as long as possible to relationships and your past self that you’ve outgrown; growing up is never easy, and realizing you’re not who you once were is jarring, but it’s necessary.

I never thought I’d love this book as much as I did, and maybe I’ll read it in a few years and realize I actually don’t like it that much, and that’s okay. This book is what I needed at this place in my life, and I’m grateful. I’m grateful for Edna, and I’m grateful for Kate. It’s comforting to know that women who came before me have the same struggles, and these struggles are just growing pains.

Maybe rural Louisiana isn’t so bad.

causal nexus

“She was becoming herself, casting aside that fictitious self which we assume like a garment.”
— Kate Chopin's The Awakening

Upon hours and days of pondering about this first blog, I am now seated at Fourth Wall Coffee, determined to somewhat free myself of the concealed truths surrounding the life I’ve been living and the one I’m living now. In other words, I am learning to be more open and honest with myself, and this is one of my first steps forward.

Fourth Wall Coffee is a vintage-looking coffee shop in New Orleans, just a couple blocks down from the hotel I am staying in for the remaining three weeks of my trip. Its courtyard area, which is where I am currently seated, has an antique and idyllic character to it that allows me to somewhat detach myself from the madness that is Los Angeles, my hometown.

Courtyard area of Fourth Wall Coffee down on Gravier St.

I wanted to start off this blog by introducing the phrase ‘causal nexus,’ which is a term defined by the American Psychological Association as “a nexus or connection between phenomena that is one of causation.” In similar terms, a chain reaction or a vicious circle. I believe this phrase can best describe the circumstances of myself and of Edna Pontellier, the protagonist in Kate Chopin’s novel, The Awakening.

Between graduation, post-grad plans, job-searches, and the continuation of my existence as a Pre-Med who was constantly drowned by classes, research, and hospital programs, I have to admit that the entirety of my being was not on this Maymester until I physically arrived on Grand Isle, LA. Having put myself in yet another unfamiliar environment, my automatic response reverted back to the ‘fake it til you make it’ mindset, which is basically to put on as best of a façade as I possibly could. These are new people I’m meeting. They don’t know who I am, they don’t know my past, and they certainly don’t know my battles. They barely even knew my name at first glance, a couple of whom didn’t even know it at all.

Being in Louisiana, I was not only away from the bustling city of LA, but also from my loved ones and, frankly… from comfort. The first day on Grand Isle felt like a fever dream. Between landing at the airport, being struck by the severe humidity and strong wind, and having to settle in at the beach house, it was all simply a beautiful chaos. Despite being away from the comfort of home, I was beginning to feel a new kind of comfort that embraced me in a way I’ve never before felt. This trip felt like a chance to get away from everything else that I had ever known—the academic struggles, the painful pasts, and all the heartbreaks and traumas of life thus far.

There wasn’t much to Grand Isle, if at all, but this little town has so much characters and its people are so welcoming that it was nothing short of rich and whole. Outside of the brief adventures around town—Jo-Bob’s, The Starfish, Grand Isle State Park, Meagan’s Sno-Balls, etc.—the majority of our time was spent bookpacking at the beach house.

Just as Edna and her husband Léonce sat outside their holiday cottage reading a day-old newspaper on Grand Isle, I, too, indulged in the reading of The Awakening on the veranda which oversees the Gulf shoreline. Taking in the same languid ambiance of the place, Edna and I both ventured into the jam-packed yet desolated nature of our hearts.

Being married to Léonce and being a mother of two children, Edna Pontellier’s life has come to a comfortable yet bleak halt. Though she is secure in her family life, this sense of security has come with a catch. Her dreams, passions, and desires all slowly wilt away; her sense of womanhood consumed by wifehood and motherhood. It is not until her vacation on Grand Isle and her meeting of the townspeople that her long-lost yearnings and urges for life is awakened. In a sense, it is as if she has gone back to her youth, where the true fulfillments of life that follow freedom, spontaneity, romance, satisfaction, artistic creativity, and sexual desires are emerging altogether and at once. Throughout her life, Edna has always been a desolate figure, containing her private thoughts and repressing her emotions. Yet although this realization has gradually come to her, it only serves as an accessory to her solitude and self-restrain. Yes, Edna begins to do whatever and whenever she pleases, but this seems to have also augmented her consciousness of the disconsolate life. She becomes more aware of her happy and unhappy days, not knowing the reason behind the latter, and being numbed to the concern of whether to be alive or dead. One thing Edna knows for certain, that she will not lose her sense of belonging of herself to another, and thus decides to succumb to her deep despondency at last.

“An indescribable oppression, which seemed to generate in some unfamiliar part of her consciousness, filled her whole being with a vague anguish.”
— Kate Chopin's The Awakening

Upon getting to know Edna, I couldn’t help but draw resemblances between her and myself. Granted, I am not a mother, nor am I closed to being married; I barely graduated college just about a week ago, for heaven’s sake! Even so, I very much empathized with how she was feeling. I guess if this was to make her feel any better, I am in my 20’s and I frankly do not feel capable of indulging in the freedom for which Edna had longed. Rather, in a similar way, I feel a heavy weight on my shoulder. Something isn’t sitting quite right with me, and I am aware of the anguish and anxiety that frequently cloud my day-to-day, though not the rationale behind them. Maybe not to the extent of being detached to the idea of life or death, but definitely the inability to express myself to others and, consequently, having to live quite a repressed and isolated life.

See, growing up in an Asian household, I was brought up in a home where crying was intolerable, and that doing so would result in punishments. Due to our family reputation back home, too, I was essentially raised as a princess would. Don’t act this way, eat that way, talk this way, and sit that way. Don’t act out in public and always be presentable. Learn to fake facial expressions and circumstances even if it comes at the expense of my own feelings. Don’t get me wrong, I grew up comfortably… as Edna was at the start of the book. But as she and I both came to discover, this comfort comes with a cost. Though, while Edna had chosen to take control of her own fate, I think I’m going to let the flow of life take a hold of mine. And with that, I will end this blog with a poem I wrote once upon a time…

“tough be the surface
sunny did they see
deception they purchase
the heart floats to sea

chained be the lion
by fog they are blind
free as dandelion
numbness it confined

novelty it desiderates
oscillates with the waves
barricade ne’er liberates
so alive in its graves
”
— "causal nexus" by yours truly :)

A New Sense Of Self

The moment we step foot in Louisiana, I feel out of place. Maybe it’s the weary ache of three sedentary hours on the plane, or the dreadful, exciting anticipation that’s been eating at me for the last week as I’ve prepared for this trip—but I feel a distinct sense of unease taking my first ever steps in the South among so many people who I imagine are coming home.

Louisiana doesn’t wait for us to adjust or take in our surroundings. Immediately we’re buffeted by a relentless wind, whipping my hair over my eyes and forcing me to fight for every step. I can’t help but feel like this is a personal confrontation: this state’s way of telling me that I don’t belong here, pushing me out, turning me around while I have the chance. As I wrestle with the draft I find myself thinking about Dorothy and Toto, swept up in a whirlwind of their own that whisks them far away from home, and I have a feeling we’re not in Los Angeles anymore.

“She wanted to swim out, where no woman had swum before.”
— Kate Chopin, The Awakening

Grand Isle is a vast change from Los Angeles, where the traffic backs up for miles and restaurants are packed into every street corner and everybody is clamoring impatiently to get somewhere. Here, the roads are empty with few signs or traffic lights—I struggle to imagine a car accident happening out here, because there are rarely multiple cars on the road at a time. Fishing boats are as commonplace as trucks in driveways. Everything moves at half-speed; even the fish at The Starfish are completely still in their tank, content to float in place rather than expend any energy swimming around.

With all of this change comes self-reflection, which is inevitably followed by self-doubt. I’ve never been more conscious of my own otherness. In grocery stores I get strange, leery looks from men in camouflage and hunting caps. My mosquito bites balloon to the size of baseballs, a symptom of my own body’s incompatibility with the Southern outdoors. My Tory Burch flip-flops stick in mud and get caught on rocks. The country music on the radio may as well be foreign language. I feel bumbling and awkward and estranged, a stupid bird that’s wandered too far from the nest, and this is where the worry begins to creep in: What am I doing here?

“You are burnt beyond recognition,” Mr. Pontellier tells Edna in the opening chapter of The Awakening. It’s one of the first signs that Edna is undergoing a drastic physical change, which is also beginning to alter her on a deeper level. Edna’s quest for self-discovery reminds me of why I wanted to come on this trip in the first place. I wanted to struggle, to change, to challenge my own recognition of myself. I wanted to discover who I was away from everything that I knew, hoping to peel away all of the superficial layers of comfort and familiarity and uncover who I was at the center. But searching for myself here leaves me feeling alienated and alone.

The Awakening isn’t exactly the best distraction from my thoughts of unrest. It’s a quiet, mundane novel without much flashiness or flair; it gives the reader plenty of space on the page to reflect. Edna’s inner turmoil is so grounded and close to my own that it’s hard to think of anything but my own fears and anxieties while I read about hers. The plot reveals itself slowly, in small moments and details—a risque touch on the arm here, a subtly flirtatious comment there—often so discreet that an antsy, overly anxious reader like myself could easily overlook.

“Sometimes I feel this summer as if I were walking through the green meadow again; idly, aimlessly, unthinking and unguided.”
— Kate Chopin, The Awakening

And so, rebelling against all of my instincts, I force myself to slow down and take my time with The Awakening—and I force myself to slow down and take my time with Grand Isle. Instantly the landscape around me becomes more vivid. It’s the small details I find myself most charmed by: a bird with a peculiar muss of hair pitter-pattering beside our beach towels on tiny, rapid feet. The torpid, sleeping cats at Jo-Bobs (we jokingly debate which is Jo and which is Bob). A house that looks no different from the rest of the houses in town, except that it boasts a sign out front that reads “Office”—I amuse myself by wondering who on earth this home office could be for, maybe a local veterinarian or a dentist.

During my first day at Grand Isle, I was so immediately determined to find answers, desperately and obsessively searching for individuality and a sense of self. Naturally all I could think about were all the ways that I didn’t belong in a state like Louisiana. But slowing down and taking my time to appreciate the slowness of life here, I’m becoming more attuned to the smaller details of this environment. In doing so I feel more welcomed. The wind whipping at my face feels more like a passionate embrace than an attack. And the bugs here must love my blood, with the way they leave kisses everywhere on my skin.

“But when she was there beside the sea, absolutely alone, she cast the unpleasant, pricking garments from her, and for the first time in her life she stood naked in the open air, at the mercy of the sun, the breeze that beat upon her, and the waves that invited her.”
— Kate Chopin, The Awakening

It’s far too early in this trip to say with certainty that I’ve discovered myself here, or that I’ve metamorphosed completely into someone new. But what I have discovered is a sense of unity with my surroundings. In our constant search for individuality and meaning, we personalize the world; we feel that it belongs to us, that every creature within our radius exists to service our own journeys to self-discovery. But the more time I spend here, the more I realize how small my own life in California is, a speck of dust in the history of America, in the world. There’s a lot of comfort in letting go of this, even if only for the few moments when rain mists my legs and the ocean crashes louder than my thoughts. I like to imagine that this is what Edna felt in her final moments, too: the lovely peace of being able to exist as part of a larger whole.