I have to move.

I’ve been sitting most of the day: in meetings, while driving, and at restaurants.

I am away at a conference and staying at a beach, but there has been little time to enjoy the sand and surf.

I’ve had no play time. If I were a child, I’d be wound-up and fussy. My parents would drug me with melatonin or Benadryl to knock me out. 

Or they might take me to the condominium’s pool, even late at night, to release all that pent-up energy. That, or let me jump on the bed until I collapse in a sweaty heap. 

But I am an adult, and adults don’t go to the pool so close to closing time. Dignified adults poddle (you know I love this word) from the bed to the bathroom for the morning ablutions, then to the car or the truck to roll toward the rest of the day. 

Somewhere in between we sit on couches and park benches, at desks and bars.

And somewhere in between the backs of our legs begin to feel like cheese puffs.

That’s my current situation. I don’t need to elevate them. I don’t need to sit with my legs stretched out straight.

If I sit still for one more minute, I’m going to die.

I feel like I’m in a war zone, and the secret to making it through combat is to keep moving. Haven’t we seen it in movies? If you stop moving, the enemy can find you and overtake you. If you stop moving, you might freeze up from fear. A moving target is harder to take out. 

“Move, soldier! Get going!”

I put on shorts and a tank top, and I head for the sound of the incoming waves.

The night sky is dark, away from the city lights, making the stars shine more brightly. There is no moon.

The long walkway slopes into sugar-white sand, and my feet dig into its shifting substance. The shore is a distance away, and I have to pick my way through the sea oats tentatively, finding my way through the maze of footpaths.

I use no flashlight. I move under the cover of darkness.

The beach opens up, and the flatness invites me to run. My closed-up lungs, too long in air-conditioned spaces, inhale and exhale the humid salt air, a breathing treatment to repair the day’s damage.

Offshore oil rigs dot the horizon like Christmas lights. They do not bother me, for on them men are working. 

Moving. 

I continue to gain ground, walking now, on hardened sand packed by the daily tides.

Small groups of people are moving around me, their red buckets illuminated by flashlights.

“I found one!” exclaims a little girl, and she shines her light onto a tiny crab, but she shrieks as it crawls toward her bare feet.

It moves quickly.

My feet are in the lapping waves, and I am standing still, my face toward the heavens. 

The Earth is rotating on its axis at 1,037 miles per hour at the Equator. 

The Earth’s orbital speed around the Sun is 67,000 miles per hour.

The Sun and the Solar System are estimated to be moving at 448,000 miles per hour in a rotational orbit in the Milky Way galaxy.

The Universe is constantly in motion.

It moves.

Shouldn’t I?

I walk along the shoreline, and the tightness in my legs subsides as I lengthen my stride. Sea breezes cool the sticky sweat that has formed along my hairline.

The rhythmic whoosh of the ocean’s waves beat like an athlete’s heart, steady and strong, in constant motion.

I begin the return trip, though in my mind I’m continuing down the shoreline, my new occupation walking the perimeter of Earth’s coast while looking for seashells.

Fulfillment.

But I am still again, rooted to the beach as the waves suck the sand away from my feet. I turn to look back toward civilization. The Big Dipper hangs in its usual spot in the sky, and the North Star will guide my way home.

I will be in my bed soon, resting and sleeping, while Creation moves on, waiting for me on the other side of the night.

There will be no need to self-medicate to ensure a peaceful slumber. My eyelids will grow heavy and I will drift off.

Maybe I will dream of conferences and driving and sitting.

Nah, I don’t think so.

I’ll be on moving along on shoreline somewhere, stopping to inspect a shell, feeling the delicious stretch in my legs and the strength in my core as I bend over to pick it up.

And all Creation will be moving with me.