The man in the RV next to us sweeps the sand from his pad three times a day. Morning, noon, and night, on a schedule. What I see as a lovely encroachment of the beach melding the two of us together, he sees as a mess that needs to be pushed back. I said to him “Isn’t that a never-ending battle?” To which he replied “I’ll win.” I wanted to say “Be one with the ocean, grasshopper.” I restrained myself. People don’t pick who they are. They just are. I am the wind, he is the wall.