Ridiculous.

These glasses are ridiculous.

They've lived in my car as backup sunglasses. They fit over my regular glasses, which is convenient. Fashionable, they are not. I usually only wear them in the car, but today I needed them on an impromptu beach walk in Newport Beach.

Newport Beach is a high-end town. The homes are beautiful. The people are beautiful. Even the dogs seem meticulously groomed. As I walked along the boardwalk, I found myself becoming surprisingly aware of my plainness... and my ridiculous glasses.

I caught myself wondering if people noticed.

"Nobody is looking at your glasses, Michele," I told myself.

Less than a minute later, I passed a group of women about my age. As I walked by, there was silence, followed by that unmistakable catty giggling. I turned back to see if I was just imagining things, but I wasn't. They were looking at me and laughing.

What surprised me most was not the immaturity of these grown women, but how much it bothered me.

Before I could even process the moment, I passed another group of women, this one much younger. One of the girls, probably not yet twenty, looked at me and said, "Your glasses are absolutely rad."

I laughed. "Oh no, they are ridiculous."

She laughed too. "Then they're ridiculously amazing. And so are you."

That's girl power. I thanked her and walked away smiling.

As I continued toward the water, I was grateful that today was not a day to conquer my fear of getting in it.

The ocean and I have a complicated relationship. I love listening to the water and watching the waves come in. I love watching people who love being in the ocean be in the ocean. I love the salt air, the sound, the wind, and the endless horizon.

What I don't love is being in the ocean itself.

It’s a strong force, and there are creatures under the water that I cannot see. I do not want them touching me, and I definitely do not want them eating me for lunch.

Throughout my life, I've conquered this fear several times, only to have it return, sometimes stronger than before; other times, I feel the need to jump in anyway. At the moment, the sharks are winning; too much imagination and not quite enough courage.

So while others splashed in the surf, I stayed safely on the sand. And, I didn't feel guilty about it. Maybe courage doesn't always look like forcing yourself into the water.

As the sun began to sink toward the horizon, I realized the glasses and the ocean had been teaching me the same lesson all afternoon.

One fear asks, "What will people think?"

The other asks, "What if something terrible happens?"

One turns my attention toward people.

The other turns my attention toward a vast, uncertain mass of the unknown.

Both have a way of stealing joy from the present moment, and neither one deserves that much power. Maybe wisdom is not conquering every fear. Maybe wisdom is simply refusing to let fear keep you from enjoying the day you've been given.

So I wore the ridiculous glasses, and I enjoyed the beach in my own way.

As the sun set, I watched a little boy and his mom dancing in the surf. His laughter echoed across the water.

The same ocean that filled me with caution filled him with delight. He wasn't worried about sharks, strangers, or what anyone thought of him. He wasn't concerned about looking foolish or making a mistake.

Watching him, I wondered what happened to the little girl in me who knew how to laugh like that. Somewhere along the way, I learned to be careful and protect myself. Maybe I got so good at it that I forgot how to play.

I think wisdom might be remembering how to be a little more like that child.

Laugh freely.

Enjoy the moment you've been given.

Worry less about things that may never happen.

Laugh like that.

Just don't laugh at others.

That's ridiculous.