Beginnings.

Beginnings are never easy, but they must be done. For me, eased into, like putting your bare feet in the sea foam, descending, wave after wave into the soft sand, sometimes tickled by sand crabs or psychological manifestations of crawlies that live underneath the beach. 

Then, run back up the sand, the white, hot, burning particles sticking to and scratching between your toes. With gritted teeth and resolved jawline, you sprint towards the waves, your eyes on the dark blue horizon broken only by points of white, not quite sure whether they are tankers or yachts or angels. A line segment is a piece of line bounded by two endpoints. 

The first few steps are splashes, then each new step amping up the resistance, tripping your feet but not slowing your torso, your wrists fly out and elbows angle and you brace yourself for the fall but you plunge into the depths of weightlessness, your body giddy, swaying into the back and forth of the ocean. 

And you feel like a child again.