There isn’t much left over after waves of regret and joy pummel through our lives. The same way the ocean takes rocks, shells, landmasses, trees and beats them smooth, wave after wave, this is what life does to us. It’s slow most of the time—a steady wash, over and over. And, then there are storms, big and heavy, blusterous and massive, exhausting. But does the ocean ever pause? When do we get to call every one in? I’m about as smooth as I’m going to get, you dig?