Roger of the present

 Roger had always loved the outdoors. As a boy, he would escape to the rocky edges of north coast Trinidad, where the ocean sang louder than any thoughts he carried. Now in his thirties, the habit remained. The world had grown louder, faster with emails, expectations, decisions. But the rocks were the same. Weathered. Unmoved.

He parked his car just before sunset, the orange hue casting long shadows across the sand. Shoes in hand, he walked the familiar path to the beach, feeling the cool granules shift underfoot. At the far end of the cove, jagged black rocks jutted from the shoreline like tired guardians. Roger climbed them with ease, settling on his favorite perch, a flat boulder, warmed by the day’s sun.

The waves rolled in rhythmic intervals. With each breath, Roger let go of something: deadlines, disappointments, the mask he wore in meetings. Out here, there was no need to perform.

And yet, even in this sacred space, he felt something different today. A heaviness.

He pulled his jacket tighter and stared at the horizon. He had spent years chasing the next "good thing"—vacations, promotions, new gadgets. They offered quick highs but never lasted. The joy was always fleeting, and the silence afterward grew louder each time. He wondered: Had he mistaken constant pleasure for a full life?

A crab scuttled across the rocks beside him, and he smiled faintly. He remembered coming here after his mother’s funeral, when the ache was too big for words. The ocean hadn’t healed him, but it had made room for the ache. It had allowed him to feel.

That was the difference, he realized now. Lately, he had been avoiding pain. Smothering it with entertainment, with comfort. But pain had once taught him who he was. It had made him call his estranged brother. It had taught him patience, and how to say “I’m sorry.” It had deepened him.

The wind picked up, and the tide whispered closer.

Roger picked up a small stone and ran his fingers over its smooth edge. Maybe pleasure wasn’t the enemy, he thought. But it should never be the goal. Meaning, he now knew, came from presence, even in sorrow.

He stood slowly, letting the last light touch his face. Tomorrow, the world would ask more of him. But tonight, here among the rocks and waves, he had remembered something vital.

He didn’t need to outrun pain. He only needed to listen.