BOT my blog by clicking on the left- then you will be notified when a new post appears.IF YOU HAPPEN TO READ THIS ARTICLE, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO COMMENT.  I would appreciate it.

I live about five miles from the beach near Atlantic City, New Jersey.  And it's an easy five miles- just drive up to the Longport Bridge road, head straight across the Longport Bridge, and you're there.  The Longport beaches are some of the finest on the East Coast.

Until this summer, I hadn't been to the beach in four years.  I was becoming one of those people who took a perverse pride in stating that fact-  "haven't been to the beach in four years!"

My life had gravitated to the point where I didn't have time to go to the beach.  Going to the beach was wasted time.  I could have been doing something productive.

This summer I decided to change.  I run on the beach, barefoot, on my lunch hour (I'm fortunate enough to be able to do that).  On Sunday mornings, I've taken to getting to the beach before nine, setting up, then getting out before noon, when the crowds start to arrive.

I like to stop at Wawa and get some coffee and a bagel for breakfast on the beach.  I take my favorite sections of the New York Times.  I make it a point to go into the ocean at least three or four times. I take mile runs two or three times during my stay.  I sit and stare out into the ocean.  I take an occasional picture.

This morning I almost didn't go. I didn't want to waste the time.  But I did, and as I sat staring into the Atlantic Ocean, the waves lapping onto the shore, it finally came to me.

I walked onto the beach this morning thinking of my upcoming 2-3 hour beach trip as wasted time.

After three peaceful hours, I walked off the beach, thinking about my worklife and my upcoming workweek, and I thought to myself:  wasted time.