From up here, everyone looks small.

I shot this from the cliffs above Ocean Beach on one of those rare San Francisco afternoons when the fog cleared just enough to see the whole sweep of coastline. Miles of sand. Waves rolling in like they've been doing for millennia. People scattered across the beach like they're part of some larger pattern they can't see.

The tilt-shift lens made them even smaller. Almost toy-like. Walking their dogs. Playing in the surf. Alone with their thoughts. Each one carrying whatever weight they woke up with that morning.

It's easy to feel like your problems are enormous when you're in the middle of them. Like the world revolves around your particular brand of chaos. But from up here? You're just another figure on the sand. Walking the same shoreline as everyone else. Same ocean. Same relentless wind. Same cold, unforgiving beauty.

Ocean Beach doesn't care about your drama. It just keeps doing what it does ... wearing down mountains into sand, one wave at a time.

Sometimes that perspective helps. Sometimes you need to see yourself as small to remember you're not alone. Everyone down there is carrying something. Everyone's just trying to walk their stretch of beach.

You're doing fine.