By Louise R. Shaw

You see it all when you walk on the beach.

You see the waves crashing, an eagle soaring. You see clouds forming pictures in the sky, their reflection on the wet sand.

Maybe you’ll see a whale taking a breath in the distance or a seal coming up for a rest on the sand or pelicans diving for fish.

Maybe you’ll see the moon rising or the sun setting or both at once.

But you also see broken shells, sometimes a jellyfish washed ashore. You see the remains of a bird that didn’t survive the dangers that exist at the ocean, sometimes a bunch of mussels broken off from their home on a nearby rock. You see seagulls snacking on crab legs or an eagle carrying something out of one nest to take to his own nest.

It’s nature. And it can be happy or harsh, beautiful or brutal.

Which brings me to life.

You see it all in life as well.

You see happiness and harshness. You see beauty and brutality.

And even if you try to focus on the beauty, you can’t ignore the brutal.

People are almost all happy at the beach.

You see them walking dogs or flying kites or surfing. You see them setting up tripods for photos or looking through binoculars at a lighthouse. You see them building sandcastles or jumping waves or proposing marriage.

And just like at the beach, there is a lot of “happy” in people you come across in life. There are people creating arresting art, teaching important truths, building vital bridges. There are people caring for those who can’t care for themselves, guiding people who are in a place they’ve never been before, donating to people who have had a loss.

But you can’t stay long enough at the beach or be far enough away from the world around you to avoid hearing about the shooting or the fire or the death or the insults or the dysfunction.

Just as at the beach, no matter how hard you try to focus on the beauty, you can’t possibly avoid or ignore – in fact it’s necessary that you also know about -- the difficult things in life around you and beyond. Including even the impacts of war in other countries: the people whose homes and cities have been destroyed and the children who are starving even though there are many other people trying to get them food.

It seems to me we humans could be different. Should be different.

It seems to me we should be able to work together. We should be able to talk about our differences and work them out.

We should try to understand each other’s needs. We could be sympathetic to their wants.

We’re not animals. We’re not entirely out of control in the face of the elements. We don’t follow instinct alone.

We can work together to fix things. We’ve done it before. So many times.

We can work together to reinforce or restore beauty. We can work together to stop brutality. We can work together to understand each other and help each other along. We can work together as we each try to fulfill our dreams while working out our differences.

Can’t we?

This column was originally written for the Davis Journal, October 2025.