As one story ends and another story emerges, it is not surprising that I find myself composing these words, walking along the beach as I have done so many times before. The tranquility of the ocean this day incites one of the most vibrant memories I have from early childhood—Doran Beach in Sonoma County, the snapshot etched in my mind full of comforting sunshine, sandcastles, playful waves, and my mom.
Whether because that profound yet fleeting childhood memory is full of uncomplicated happiness or because the ocean touches my soul, I have found myself returning, again and again, to its solace and its energy throughout my life.
There is nothing terribly unique in the fact that I draw inspiration from the ocean. That it calls to many of us is a fact proven by the price of coastal real estate the world over and supported in evidence by the millions who, year in and year out, make beaches on every continent their vacation destination.
But what is it about the ocean that draws us? Is it that the ocean is a living, breathing entity both biologically as well as spiritually? Is it because it harkens back to our earliest days in the womb? Or is it simply its undeniable beauty? Whatever the reason, the ocean’s vigorous assault on each of our five primary senses cannot be ignored: we taste the tang of the salt on our palate; we inhale the aroma of kelp; we feel the foam dance around our ankles; and we see the sparkle of the sunlight off the waves—no two glimmers ever alike—and we hear the voice of the surf in all of its moods.
Yet for me, there is a sixth sense with which the ocean resonates: it touches my soul; it is a source of pure, unadulterated joy.
While it has been years since I’ve paddled out, I taught myself how to surf when I moved to San Diego in my early twenties. There is nothing on earth like the feeling of being out in the ocean, sitting on your board watching the sets come in, and finally catching that wave. During that time in San Diego, I managed to get out in the water almost daily, sometimes twice a day if the surf was particularly fun. I always looked for the least crowded breaks even if it meant I would compromise the quality of surf. I enjoyed the tranquility of surfing alone.
There, surfing alone, I would find myself both energized and yet at peace.
Even if not immersed in it physically, being close enough to the ocean to see it, hear it, smell it still has that exhilarating effect on my inner being. It is a source of both inspiration and joy; it is to the ocean that I go to find myself.
I’ve talked throughout this book about my vision, about the importance of holding to it, of the necessity of believing in it. And the birth of any vision really begins with finding your joy.
Living as I did in Shasta County for fifteen years, over three hours from the nearest ocean, I had to find other sources of inspiration, other ways to connect with my source energy and to stay grounded. Sometimes it was the mountains, with which Shasta County abounds. Pine trees have also been my lifelong friends, and they are not without their own majestic, inspirational energy.
I will settle for a lake if that is my only other option. But never a river. Rivers are skulking and suspect.
In finding our joy, we create space—perhaps physical space but most definitely mental and emotional space—in which we can feel grounded, relaxed, and inspired; space in which we will do our best work in focusing on and honing our vision.
Virginia Woolf wrote that to be successful as a writer, a woman must have a room of her own, meaning both literal space without domestic demands but also space for women in general to have their space within the male-dominated literary world of her time.
Taking Virginia Woolf’s words in a greater context, this sentiment holds true for everyone. Every individual needs their own space—a literal or figurative room of their own—in which to connect with their joy and in which to develop and grow their vision.
What I now tell people seeking my business advice is this: Whatever your vision, think of it as having its own life force. And what your vision needs to survive, more than anything, is space; you must give it room to breathe and grow if it is to thrive and evolve. My vision started with an idea for an enhanced experience within a single store, yet evolved into a mission to shatter stereotypes, legitimize an industry, and to always be the best. My vision was in constant evolution because it was and is alive, and yours will do the same. It will grow and expand as you nurture it. That evolution and expansion are part of the point.
It can be difficult—even seem impossible—to find the time, space, or energy to devote to your vision. The realities of life can easily get in the way; the demands of a job, children, a spouse; the distraction of social media and the online vortex; the barrage of news and information we find ourselves subjected to from nearly every angle can be deafening, drowning out the softer voice of your vision sitting quietly in its corner of your heart and waiting patiently for you to bring it to life.
On a daily basis, I find joy in many things, not just actualizing my outer work in the world. I find joy in my dogs—three of them at the moment. Each one whimsically different from the other, yet each pure joy to me (excepting those times when they sneak my slippers from the closet and blissfully rip them to shreds—finding their own joy, no doubt). Jim finds his joy on the golf course; for my sister, Amy, the source of joy is the desert. Living as I do now, back near the beach, I am grateful to be able to reconnect with the ocean. Although I love the pines and the lakes, my first choice for joy, inspiration, and renewal is always the ocean.
Of course, I’m not blind to the feminine symbolism of the ocean. Perhaps my subconscious was always driving me there, showing me the joy within, all the while leading me down the path of rediscovering my vulnerability to culminate at a place I feel safe, a place to which I have returned time and again, a place where my soul feels energized and alive—the ocean.
Wherever or whatever your joy may be, I hope you find it. I hope you find that room of your own in which to carve out space and time to refocus and reenergize yourself and to let your vision thrive.
I hope you do this for the sake of your vision and for the life that you wish for, long for, and are meant for.