One morning, peak pandemic, I’m sitting on the beach at El Matador at 6am. Malibu’s most beautiful, picturesque beach is hugged by a giant cliff and peppered with spectacular rock formations with caves large enough you can walk through them. If you arrive at this hour you can burrow into your choice cave along the bottom of the cliff and have a moment alone with the ocean before the crowd hits. It’s a morning routine I prescribe whenever I feel the need to be ripped from the self-absorbed context of my own life. These rocks and waves, after all, have billions of years on me – they don’t move for me, they don’t stop for me – and it’s a humbling reminder that the world doesn't revolve around me. Which is weird, because a lot of the time it feels like it does. I think this is a very human notion, but one that, lately, feels supercharged by modernity’s conveniences, and also, the ease with which the internet has allowed us to package up our personalities and project them onto an infinitely attentive, potentially monetizable, largely unknown audience. I felt that shift pretty clearly on this morning at El Matador.
My favorite so far! It all comes back to "disconnect to reconnect". I don't want to ever miss the dolphins IRL.
Thanks for reading :)
Well written. I especially love this take coming from a second generation photographer.