“I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean”

Lee Ann Womack

I wasn’t quite sure what I would write about when it was my turn to do this, and up until a few hours ago I still wasn’t sure. While I have had some good days on this journey, I have mostly felt somewhat neutral (is that the word?) on this trip. Although I am amazed and impressed by the grandeur of the buildings and their ability to stand the test of time, up until now it has seem as though I do so because it is expected. I haven’t truly given myself to the program and everything it entails because to me this is AP Euro all over again. At least it was until this past weekend.

I was adamant about making my way to the south and experiencing a proper beach whilst I was in France. Regardless of the numerous texts and failed airbnb bookings, I and a few others made our way to Marseille during the long weekend. The moment the beach came into view the only thought I had was a line from the song “I hope you dance” by Lee Ann Womack. Yes it is a country song, and yes I do like country (mostly). I don’t even remember ever listening to the song by the original artist. Only that a few years ago I watched a movie called “The Family that Preys” and the lead would sing this song with her friend who believed she was larger than life. As I thought about this song and this particular line on the train ride back to Lyon, I realized that I am that friend.

As a first generation student of higher education and expanded horizons I have often thought myself to be “doing the damn thing.” As if I am achieving feats that have never been reached before. And even as I crane my neck daily to look at buildings and monuments that seem larger than life in Lyon, much of this feeling remained, until I stood next to the ocean. Trust me even to my own ears it sounds corny but that was a most humbling feeling. It is no secret that I am a person of faith and one of the things that Christians are charged to do is to navigate the world with humility. My day at the beach, standing next to an ocean, in a place I did not know, wondering how far it stretched, led me to the realization that I needed to feel small. I needed to feel small on that beach and I needed to remember how to feel small before the grandeur of Lyon.

The ride back to Lyon after this epiphany left me pensive, forcing me to look at the pictures of the places I had taken throughout our time again. Although I do not know how to follow the rule of thirds most of the time, and am in no way a photographer, I saw them differently. Like the ocean I was not responsible for them. This ocean that stretches farther than I can imagine and buildings that have withstood more than I would like to wrap my head around will continue to do so with or without my genuine acknowledgement of them.

Womack’s song then isn’t just one of nostalgia or a mere reminder to persist in bad times. It is a plea to me (and others), with that one line, to remember to learn how to feel small. To enter places and approach spaces with a humility that often needs to be replenished. I don’t know if I am the only one feeling this. I am unsure if anyone has ever or will ever feel this way but on the off chance that you do, I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean.

–V. T. T