Sometimes I’m all wrong. Sometimes this world and I just don’t get along.

I won’t lie, the struggle to climb this mountain I’m on is long, too long, and I have often cursed the path. Many times I have cursed myself for being on it and believing in the climb and uncertain peak. Often the carrot dangling in front of me appears to be unattainable on the stick as it moves forward with my pace.

Being on this writer’s path has been a painful and difficult one. Looking around and seeing others on their journeys and in their lives, I know that I have to keep going, because there is only one way to find what I’m looking for. Hopefully, I won’t go mad or homeless in the meantime.

In these moments of despair I shut the computer off and walk out of the house to find comfort at the beach or in the woods. Many find comfort in church and religion. Yet for me there are no demands at the beach or in the woods. There is no dogma to embrace or uphold, and no judgments to endure or bills to pay. I can disconnect and recharge and believe again.

There is therapy found in nature. It is free therapy. It is soothing like from a mother that I have never found in man-made inventions. It caresses my weary head and heart. It sings to me.

At the beach my worries fade with each wave rolling into the shore. My concerns float off on warm winds. While up on a mountain they tumble down the hillside away from me, leaving me simpler, clearer, and ready to start the ascent again.