The memory of that moment has lived in my mind for years; a snippet of the most peace I had ever experienced shelved away in the coves of my recollections. If I close my eyes, think just hard enough, and take a deep breath I am suddenly there again. Not a detail of this memory has been lost. It is as pristine and crystal clear as the moment itself, and sometimes it seems to sparkle a bit with a gleam that seems to be the way my mind's eye records happiness. It is just a touch of light dancing across the edge of the memory in a manner that is magically similar to the way that the sunlight preformed a ballet upon the open ocean waters that moment in Avalon, New Jersey. I had arisen early that day and, leaving a note upon the counter, I left the small rental beach house where my aunt, cousin, grandparents, and family were still sleeping. My goal was simple: to find seashells. I ran a business painting seashells, so they were always something I was on the lookout for, and morning is the best time to find them. The sand of the beach was still cool beneath my feet, not yet heated by the rays of the rising sun. In one hand I held a bag for the shells and in the other my thrown together breakfast. The beach was practically empty. The morning was serene, quiet, and a stark contrast to about everything in my life. I walked a few blocks of beach north and reached the Townsend Inlet, the end of the Avalon beach. The Inlet was home to a long bridge which connected Avalon to the next New Jersey seaside peninsula. Between myself and the waters of the Inlet stood the stone jetty; a man-made sea-wall to prevent erosion. It was upon the rocks of the jetty that I sat to rest that morning. Seated on the cool rocks, I could see steaks of color illuminating the morning sky. The horizon began with coral hues which seamlessly blended into a pale blue. The clouds were coral too, kissed with tones of purple and grey. From where I sat, the beach that I had just traversed appeared to go on forever, as did the ocean that stretched as far as the eye could see making you understand why ancient peoples believed that to cross it would lead you to the Earth's end. It was then that I unpacked my breakfast: a salami and cheese sandwich and a glass of lemonade. Really it didn't make any sense to pack lunch meat for breakfast, but the last bagel that we had bought for the rental house was eaten the day prior. The lemonade was a sweet, tangy nectar on my tongue as it washed away the salami salty enough to rival the sea air. It was just me, my breakfast, and the eternal beach. That is my favorite moment; one which I still relive in my mind. For a moment too brief it was just me and Forever sitting side by side on Avalon's jetty. For a moment too short nothing mattered except the world in front of me. For a moment too quickly gone I was merely another grain of sand upon the beach's shore. As I reminisce on this particular memory, I recall the overwhelming tranquility, the simple finality of the moment. It was a moment in which I had accepted the fact that I was just another piece in the puzzle and a spectator to the grandeur of everything larger than myself. It was then that I realized no matter how small you feel, even if you are just a single grain of minuscule, weak, and volatile sand, the rocks of the jetty will always be there to stand strong when you yourself cannot.