Standing Before the Edge

I spent this morning trying to organize my bookshelf, pulling out old journals that I haven’t touched in years. I found a note tucked into a page from a trip I took when I was twenty, back when I thought I had to have my entire life mapped out by now. Reading it, I felt a strange, quiet ache. We spend so much of our youth trying to build walls, trying to make ourselves feel permanent and unshakeable, as if we can outlast the tide. But looking at those old pages, I realized how much of me has already washed away. We are constantly being reshaped by the things we endure, carved out by the winds we didn’t ask for. There is a terrifying beauty in realizing that we are not the rock, but the process of the cliffside itself—always changing, always losing pieces, yet somehow remaining whole. If you could stand at the very edge of your own history, what would you be willing to let the wind take from you?

Oscar Garcia has captured this feeling perfectly in his work titled The Cliffs of Moher. It reminds me that there is a profound strength in simply standing your ground against the elements. Does this image make you feel small, or does it make you feel like you could weather anything?