Peace Is All Around With Grounding

We were recently on a family vacation — one of those rare stretches of time where the sun is out, everyone is smiling (mostly), and the days stretch long and lazy. There was sand at our feet, snacks in the car, and no real agenda. Just time together exploring California beaches.

One afternoon, while the boys were creating rules for their own boogie boarding olympics, I opted for a solo walk down the shore. My feet sank into warm, wet sand, and the sea was doing that thing where it speaks in rhythms you don’t realize you needed until you're quiet enough to hear them.

I noticed that this particular beach was characterized by countless smooth stones that washed up on the shore (rather than the typical shells or seaweed). Each of these small stones were half-buried in a swirl of tide-marked sand, glinting like it knew a secret. I snapped a photo—not because it was rare, but because in that moment, I felt fully present. Fully grounded. Fully myself. I must have stood there examining these markings for close to an hour determined to interpret the sea's handwriting. It was remarkable. Maybe a little crazy... but to me, in that moment, it felt like I was privy to whispers from other worlds.

A grounded state

Often, I hear or read folks reference grounding like it requires a fancy retreat or odd ritual. Those things have their place if they appeal to you, but for me, grounding looks like your feet in the sand while your kid chases seagulls or taking your socks off in a shady forest. It's simple in my view. Find opportunities to connect with the Earth and just listen. Hear what your intuition is saying, what the trees are singing, and what the waves are drumming.

Connection lives in the in-between moments, between sunscreen reapplications and temper tantrums. When we accept the opportunity to pause, however fleeting, nature greets us. Too often, given how busy minds and lives, we don't hear or acknowledge this greeting. On this trip, I listened. I returned the greeting and thanked the Earth for her beauty and for the ample resources she provides for all living things.

So, I decided to bring that grounded energy back home with me.

I keep a grounding crystal set on my desk in my office. A combination of raw Obsidian, Black Tourmaline, Smoky Quartz, Labradorite and Selenite. I figured just having them on my desk while I work would help when my nervous system spirals during all-hands calls. At minimum, it was worth a shot. After my experience in San Clemente, I added to this purchased collection of grounding crystals with my own grounding mementos. A handful of beautiful shells that spoke to me and one of those gently polished stones the ocean shared.

The wisdom of small things

The stones on the beach, and the one that now lives on my desk, had been tumbled by time, shaped by saltwater and waves in all their chaos, and there it was—whole, unbothered, quietly gleaming. Reminding me that through turbulence, beauty rises. These little totems of a week when life felt simple, soft, and kind. What some might call defects on these shells, I consider badges of honor and signs of growth — and THAT is a great reminder to have when life gets prickly.

I don’t need a vacation to feel grounded. It's certainly nice (and if I ever object to travel call my doctor), but returning home from this adventure reminded me that despite the steady state of anxiety and stress I tend to feel each day, I just need to notice what’s beneath my feet, the sounds around me, and the small tokens gifted to me each day if I take the time to notice.

Shadows are part of the light

While walking on the sand, my shadow was present right next to me. Looking larger than life and reminding me that my best friend, my shadow, is always and forever by my side. She was stretched across the sand—jagged, lopsided, and beautifully mine. Instead of obsessing about my weight and measurements, I watched it move, lengthening and shrinking with my movements and the sun, and I thought about how rarely I pause to acknowledge my own shadow. Not the metaphorical kind, but the literal proof that I exist. That I take up space in this world.

You don’t have to go far

Our vacation is over now. But the feeling — the groundedness, the joy, the simplicity — my intention is to encourage it to stay. I don’t need a beach. Or a week off. I just need a few intentional moments: a barefoot walk in my garden, a morning coffee on the back patio, a smooth stone in your hand.

Grounding isn’t a place. It’s a presence. Find something from the earth — a stone, a leaf, a flower — and keep it close. Let it be your anchor, your reminder, your proof that you belong right here.

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