A Sea of Change

How a visit to the coast left me open to the unknown expanse of my own becoming.

…and suddenly there he was. Earlier than the witch expected. As the Earth was still frozen, and the trees were still slumbering.

Yet there he stood now at the open gate, dark eyes looking in at hers…and she felt a familiar warmth overtake her, in the way it always seemed to when he returned.

“There you are,” she smiled, “I’ve been waiting.”

I recently took a trip out to the coast. As I sat watching the waves rise and fall, I found myself scrolling through my ever-expanding writing folder, reflecting on this little piece and a few others.

Revisiting them made me think about the moments in life where time seems not only to stand still but to intersect at the crossroads of long-awaited hope and anticipation. Moments when one has struggled to keep their head above water for so long, only to suddenly find their feet on solid ground. That point where a long-held, trembling breath finally finds its release.

These moments tend to be marked in bold black ink along our timelines. They are not simply significant events but turning points — those that alter the path of one’s personal journey. As a Libra with my sun in the fourth house, these tend to be moments directly tied to the people closest to me — loved ones and relationships I have welcomed into the home of my heart. The ones who have changed me or shifted my perspective in permanent ways. They mark the unseen yet very distinct line between the time before and the time after.

More than that, they represent change—something we often resist, choosing instead to settle into the warmth and comfort of what is known, routine, and safe. But, safe is not where we learn or grow. Being forced outside these little self-made shells of ours creates a collision between the person we were and the one we are becoming. It’s not meant to be comfortable because it’s supposed to pull us deeper into understanding, further from the shore, expanding into the uncharted territory of our own growth.

Even the moments we hold our breath for —hope for, dream of —exist to challenge us. Often they do not arrive until we have journeyed far from the places we once found comfort and weathered the darkness of the storm, the tumultuous rise and fall of a violent sea.

As I’ve grown older, these moments feel even more significant. Standing somewhere near what I hope is the midpoint of this lifetime, I see how their reverberations continue to unfold, revealing meaning even years later. Much like the waves crashing onto the shore, one after another, molding the sand beneath my feet — ever so slightly, yet undeniably, leaving an imprint and changing it forever.

At this point in my life — and particularly in this moment, with my lungs full of salt and sand— I find myself looking at what’s ahead with less trepidation than in years prior. Spring grows on the horizon, heralding a new season and the culmination of this one. I feel open in a way that is unfamiliar and close to feeling like hope. But it is not hope for a person or a connection outside of myself. It is the hope that this season, I will be the dramatic mark upon my own life —that I will let go of the fear of the unknown, the inevitable change, and my vulnerability within it.

It is hope for a belief in my own ability to step further into my power and embrace the natural cycles of the tides — the change that lies out there in the great expanse of time before me. The things I dream of, and even the experiences that are still unexpected.

— Gina

I would love to hear if you have ever experienced a moment that shifted the course of your life? Maybe something that felt fated or aligned with a planetary transit or moon phase? If so, feel free to share it in the comments.