The Sea and the Stone

This essay appears in Silly: Stories in Ordinary Time.

We arrived on a warm mid-October afternoon in Dubrovnik, the “Pearl of the Adriatic.” As we stepped off the bus at Ploče Gate, the scent of pines and salt air wafted over us with the warm breeze. My mind was suddenly filled with images—memories of somewhere I’d never been before.

The golden hour settled over the cypress trees as we made the fifteen-minute trek uphill to the Hilton Imperial Dubrovnik—past ancient stone walls and bustling cafes glowing in the late autumn light. The esplanade appeared to be made of polished white marble and was alive with a cacophony of voices in languages from around the world.

All at once, a weariness I had no idea I’d been carrying drained from my bones—I felt as if I were floating. The whole place seemed suffused with a kind of magic I couldn’t explain.

The last year had been a long one in so many ways. After twenty-five years in medical practice—and two weeks before this trip—I had made the difficult decision to step away and recalibrate.

I missed my patients. I missed my staff. The realization that I might not return to medicine was a difficult one.

For so many years, whether I realized it or not, I had defined much of my identity by the title “doctor.” It’s not only what I did—it was who I was.

Was.

That brought me up short.

Oh sure, I could tell myself that I would now be a writer, a musician, an artist. But would anyone take that seriously? After all, I’d never done these things before—at least not to the extent that people took the slightest notice. I was concerned that an old Southern adage might apply here:

“A cat can have kittens in the oven but that don’t make ’em biscuits.”

Exactly.

* * *

I was approaching my 57th birthday and it was becoming undeniable: the years were flying by. There were things I wanted to do besides fuss at people all day about their blood pressure and cholesterol. Sean and I had been blessed to have arrived at a point in our lives when materially, we had all we needed. I could afford to “retire” if I wanted to.

But retire to do what precisely? I had been working on songwriting and producing synth pop music as a hobby for almost twenty years. After five studio albums, I’d succeeded in cultivating a following that would be hard-pressed to fill a single city bus on a good day.

More recently, I’d discovered a passion for writing—amusing a few of my more indulgent friends and patients along the way. However, I didn’t appear to be in any danger of being published and vaulted to the top of the New York Times bestseller list anytime soon.

All of this had been on my mind since our arrival in Croatia five days earlier. Then Sean and I walked into the lobby of the Hilton.

It was fragrant with the scent of bitter orange and bathed in the light of utter civility. We’ve been fortunate to have stayed at some lovely properties in many places around the world, but the stately beauty of this one was jaw-dropping.

The bellman whisked the luggage away, promising to have it waiting in the room for us. The concierge explained the complimentary breakfast in the morning and the evening hors d’oeuvre served in the executive lounge. We’d also gotten a free upgrade to a top-floor suite.

As we headed down the hall to the polished brass elevator doors, I glanced to my right out the large Palladian windows that looked out onto an immaculate topiary garden, complete with marble statues. Sean pressed the elevator call button and I took in the scene, feeling a bit like a decadent prince from some nameless duchy.

Upon arriving at our suite, I opened the door with the keycard, pushed my way forward and dropped my suitcase on the bed. Anxious to see the view from the balcony, I stepped out and was stunned by scenes of the Adriatic in one direction and Mount Srđ in the other.

Time slowed to a crawl. I inhaled deeply the sea air and turned as Sean came out behind me, grinning from ear to ear.

“So, whaddya think? Do you like it?” he asked.

“Do I like it? Are you kidding me? It’s… amazing.”

We had started our trip earlier in Zagreb and had stayed at a wonderful hotel there, but this? This was next level. Sean had truly outdone himself this time.

More importantly, though, I heard a soft click in my head—as if some deeper truth had been unlocked.

* * *

The following morning we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and then left for a tour of the city. We went down to Pile Gate and proceeded to take a walk atop the old battlements. An aura of history pervaded everything. The air was warm and the gentle breeze carried the faint aroma of some nameless flower.

The stone walls of the old city itself were impressively constructed, stretching more than a mile, enclosing everything. There were places where they approached twenty feet thick.

At one point, there was a plaque detailing the history of the siege of Dubrovnik in the ’90s during the Croatian War for Independence. It stated that the ancient fortifications proved more resilient to modern armaments used than many of the newer structures elsewhere in the city.

They don’t make ’em like they used to, for sure.

There’s a lesson in that somewhere.

I stopped at one of the parapets and looked out at the sea as it glinted in the sunlight. The water rolled in ceaselessly, breaking at the base of the fortress foundations—stained by salt, weathered from countless centuries of bombardment by the elements.

Strange as it might sound, in that moment I could relate to this grand edifice. In some small way, I felt I resembled it—solid, square, implacable—yet gradually softened and shaped by the waves of life that continued to roll in season after season.

As I reflected on this, it struck me—the sea isn’t the antagonist; it’s the partner that gives the stone its meaning. Without the sea’s endless motion, the stone’s endurance would go unnoticed. Without the stone’s resistance, the sea would have nothing to shape. That’s life, isn’t it?

Sean slipped up behind me—wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder.

“What are you thinking about, baby?” he asked softly.

As I gazed out at the vast azure blue that stretched to the horizon, I turned to him and said, “Oh, I was just wondering what might be waiting for us out there.”

He looked around furtively, to be sure no one could see, and then gave me a quick peck on the cheek. In that moment, a feeling of peace and contentment settled in my chest.

There was no reason to worry about what the tides might bring with their steady, implacable rhythm.

It would all come to me—eventually.