It was 7:20 AM--and there was no parking spot to move my car away from the 8-10 Tuesday street cleaners.

So I scraped the layer of ice from the windshield and windows and drove to the ocean.

I guess I have not been before during a big full tide. There was little room to walk--some of the waves even reaching the dunes.

It was like being within a huge breathing beast. Even on the concrete platform at the Vicente area of the beach, the body felt as though the huge waves were taking it away.

I had been asked to please spit in the ocean, and so I did that--very easy to do with ocean all around! I laughed. If you want a fast sense of your place in the universe, just spit into the ocean.

The waves so big and frothy. Gulls and pelicans skimming them--so close to that churning power and yet so free of it.

I learned 2 things as I stood there:

The ocean offers horizon. When you need to see far--not think but just see--the ocean is a very good plce to go.

The second involves the only surfer there, a middle-aged man. I see him stretch, attach the board cord to his ankle, pull the headpiece of the wet suit over his head. He can’t contain himself: as he walks into the surf, he takes a little hop, then another one. Happiness. He wades outward.

I never see him surf. In fact, at some point as I watch snowy plovers, he disappears. I'm concerned, and wait quite a while, searching the waves. I imagine unhappy scenarios. I finally stop thinking with my head and listen to my gut which is signaling no emergency, only life. I turn away to leave.

From behind a dune, the fellow emerges, his dark hair pasted to his temples. Relieved, I approach him since I know nothing about surfing. Are waves this big dangerous? Are they good surfing waves? He says he never got to surf because the turbulence kept him from even reaching the waves. He says there's a reason there are no other surfers out there.

Still. He looks happy.

And the feedback helps me to measure and hone the accuracy of my gut.