Coastal Diaries | When The Sea Gives Back

I’ve been out shell collecting almost every morning since moving near the sea. There’s something meditative about it: walking along the shoreline, listening to the waves, letting my eyes catch the small glimmers of shape and color scattered in the sand.

One morning, I found a tiny shell that felt too cute to leave behind. I placed it inside my case, together with the shells I’ve collected over the past few days, thinking it was just another addition to my collection. Later that day, I discovered I wasn’t the only one who thought the shell was worth keeping—a hermit crab had been living inside it.

I let the shell go after telling Pat about it, not expecting anything. It felt like the right thing to do: to return a home to its rightful owner—the crab, and nature itself. But when I came back from dinner, I found the crab had returned, leaving the shell behind for me. As if the sea had instructed it to share a little joy and beauty to me. 

Hermit crabs don’t make their own shells; they borrow abandoned ones from snails. They’re picky, too. They’ll try on different shells, leave one, return to another, always searching for the right fit. What I witnessed wasn’t a gift in the human sense, but a natural rhythm: the crab reclaiming what felt safest. And yet, standing there with the shell in my hand, it felt like more than instinct. It felt like reciprocity.

Lately, I’ve been fascinated with the ocean and its creatures, even though I’m not the best swimmer. I want to study marine life! I know I just finished my degree in Psychology, and I’m not about to enroll in another program (at least for now). Instead, I’ve decided to be a natural observer of nature. I’ll sketch the shells I collect, watch videos about marine ecosystems, and maybe even try to overcome my fear of swimming, little by little.

seaside mornings are a thing now 

I realized that sometimes the sea gives back what we thought we had let go. Sometimes nature reminds us that curiosity and comfort can coexist. That morning, a hermit crab taught me that it’s okay to explore, to hesitate, to try on new shells. And it’s okay to return to the one that feels right.

Maybe this season of my life is simply about slowing down, paying attention, and letting small routines, like collecting shells and writing down their stories teach me something about myself. I don’t have to figure everything out right away. For now, it feels enough to notice, to learn, and to carry these little lessons with me.

With love, from where the waves meet the sand,

E.