Essay
Liza went to the campus «HUM» shoreline right after the third educational block. Jargon from media production lectures was still swirling in her head, three pages of unfinished thoughts remained in her notebook, and her phone screen flickered with unread messages from the team chat. She walked across the sand and sat down on the swings near the water.
The Baltic Sea murmured at the edge of the village of Donskoye. The water washed onto the sand in a deep rhythm that helped her decompress after a full day in front of screens.
On the first swing upward, the wind caught her hair, and Liza closed her eyes. She recalled the morning anxiety before the case defense, the bewilderment in front of the experts, and her colleague’s advice to speak directly from her own perspective. It worked, and the project was accepted.
On the second swing, Liza opened her eyes. The sky over the coast had turned a uniform shade of pink. Behind her, from the side of the teaching pavilions, she could hear the hum of the forum, laughter, and the footsteps of participants. Here, right on the water’s edge, there was only the creak of wooden supports and the sound of the surf.
On the third swing, Liza remembered a local ritual. On these swings, participants traditionally name three specific actions to transform an idea into a finished work. A lot of theory had accumulated during the educational session, and now she needed to cut out the excess to assemble a clear working plan.
A girl with a notebook sat down on the adjacent swings. She looked at Liza silently, received a nod in return, and settled onto the seat. They swung next to each other, gazing at the Baltic Sea and regaining their strength before the evening phase of the program.
Liza took out her phone, opened the notes application, and wrote down three tasks. First, to approve the storyboard for the video with the director. Second, to assign roles within the team for tomorrow’s shoot. Third, to send the script draft to the curator for review.
She slipped her phone into her pocket, pushed off the ground, and closed her eyes again, listening to the rhythm of the sea and the creak of the swings.
Legend
On a high cliff overlooking the Baltic Sea, a man lived who was nicknamed the Hunter in the surrounding area. In previous years, he had served at a remote border lighthouse, and later he felled a small cabin right at the edge of the sea. People from distant villages and towns often came to him: artisans, seafarers, young apprentices, and builders. They brought with them a flurry of activity, fragments of other people’s thoughts, and long, anxious conversations.
The Hunter listened to his guests on wide swings made from oak timbers washed ashore by storms. The swings hung heavily from ropes above the sand. The man would sit down beside them, press his feet into the ground, and begin to speak. The swings remained still.
One evening, a young master came to him, caught in doubt before a major undertaking. He spoke for a long time about his fears, the advice of others, and numerous plans, clearly agitated. The Hunter listened to this torrent, looked at him, and simply asked:
«Do you truly believe what you are saying right now?»
The guest fell silent. He lowered his gaze and cleared his mind of everything he had been forcing himself to say out of fear of appearing weak. A long pause hung in the air. Finally, he sighed and honestly admitted that he was simply afraid of failure. At that moment, the Hunter easily pushed off the ground.
The swings leaped into the air. The wind hit his face, and all the accumulated fear seemed to stay behind. The swings returned and slowed down. It was the first swing that relinquished everything superfluous to the sea.
The guest felt the support beneath his feet, straightened his back, and continued without the previous agitation:
«I was thinking about building a mill here, but I got confused. I doubt too much and listen to others' arguments too often.»
The Hunter looked at the water and asked a second question:
«If you only keep what you started this endeavor for in the first place, what remains?»
The interlocutor paused again. He discarded the desire to please others and chose the single, primary essence of his work. As soon as this simple and clear thought resonated over the cliff, the Hunter sent the swings upward with a strong push.
The movement became steady and wide. The second swing brought a feeling of strength and stability. The swings gently drifted down toward the sand again.
The Hunter turned to the master:
«What will you do in your first three steps when you stand on this sand?»
The guest looked out at the sea surface, composed himself, and answered without a single hesitation:
«First, I will clear only the sturdy forest. Then, I will lay the foundation on the hill. After that, I will gather the workers and erect the frame.»
The Hunter smiled and pushed off the ground for the third time.
The swings soared easily over the coast. Below, the surf roared, and in the person’s mind, only a clear sequence of actions remained. The catcher has long been gone from this shore, and his home was lost to storms. But the oak swings still stand over the sea, holding onto that very power. People still come here when they need to halt the frenzy, answer simple questions, and catch their true rhythm.
