One of many reasons I like the beach: It is made for restless people. Waves crash, gulls dive, tides move. Even the barrier island itself is shifting, sand grain by sand grain, imperceptible to us but movement just the same.

For those of us whose thoughts race and careen — who start with a prayer and end with a shopping list — the beach is both balm and inspiration.

I read in the paper the other day about the Dalai Lama’s visit to D.C., and how in honor of the Kalachakra Festival monks would be sculpting intricate designs from both sand and butter. All is transient: beauty, worship, the work of our hands.

The beach blares the same message: If things seem bad, wait a minute. They will get better. Effort is good, effort is expected. But we must also learn to let go. The beach is an excellent teacher.