If you’re ever looking for a philosophical experience, I can point you in the right direction. I’m sorry, let me back up. The word “philosophical” calls to mind black and white images of men with neckbeards and curly hair wrapped in bedsheets, spewing useful advice in second person. That’s not what I mean. This doesn’t involve posting said advice imposed over a too-saturated picture of a calming landscape on Facebook. (Sorry, Aunt Sally.) This is about being human.

So let me clarify. In this case “philosophical” means that rising feeling you get in your chest when you experience a beautiful thing.
Now these moments. All mine have happened while I was standing in sand, more specifically, really rough sand, right by a large body of water. They’ve also all come while I was in this situation, but only at sunset. I guess that’s part of the experience, a prerequisite. Anyway, so you’re in the sand, and there’s this great big beautiful lake. Any lake, pick your favorite. Lake Michigan, Silver Lake by the Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes, Houghton Lake. That’ll do.

And you’re standing there next to the lake, and the wind is blowing through your hair, on your face. It’s a bit chilly, but it’s the high point of the summer, so the heat from the day is still there. The sun is setting, and you look across the water. It’s probably pretty still right now, maybe a few waves. Wait... now. It should hit you. You’ll know it when you feel it, that aching feeling of realization, of being on the earth. You’ll never want the moment to end.

And it doesn’t, as you walk out into the water, so the cold feeling splashes up around your ankles, and the sand between your toes becomes more loose. The wind will dry out your eyeballs as you look across the lake, and realize just how small you are in comparison to the rest of the world. A speedboat might enter your field of vision, carving through the water, and you’ll ache in your bones so bad, you’ll want to take flight, and glide over the water, and join the faceless family on the boat, if only to feel the biting wind hitting your face and whipping your hair harder, so you can feel the spray of the water piercing your molecules. Standing in that sand, you’ll hear the laughter of children on the playground behind you, or a trumpeter playing TAPS as the sun dips below the horizon, right before your eyes, its final bow, and your heart will sink right down with it as the sand gets cold. Your neurons will be firing. You’ll yearn to be swallowed by the ground, the sand caressing your skin as soft as flower petals as they wither. The grains will pour over your head like you’re in the bottom cavity of an hourglass. The water will rise from below, licking the bottoms of your feet, grazing the goosebumps on your legs, solidifying on your fingertips. By then it should be over and you’ll feel heavy again. Trust me, I’ve felt it. That’s how it’ll be.