I didn't need a new T-shirt or a shell necklace, and the ones I saw in the closest stores were all made in India or China, anyway. A sand dollar would be the most locally grown, organic souvenir I could ever hope to find.

I've always been awed by these round sea creatures. Their delicate layered structure with the intricate petal-like design on top make them a unique shoreline treasure. Embedded in the sand, they appear like an offering from the waves.

For human beings to pick up and take home, of course.

I spent a number of hours walking up and down the beach on my search, so I had ample time to think about my motive. Why did I imagine that sand dollars - even if what washes up are their remains - were for the taking in the first place? If I found the rare whole one, what was I going to do with it? Display it as a prize I won from nature's waters?

It finally dawned on me that the sorry shape the oceans are in today is due to that same, misguided attitude: the mysteries and bounty of marine life exist for human pleasure and consumption. The consequences of this kind of relationship to the life that swims through the oceans - to say nothing of what lies below the ocean floor - have been devastating. As I glanced from the sand to the sea I realized I am as guilty of this attitude as those who have said, even within the past 20 years, that the productivity of the oceans is limitless.

In a recent "New Yorker" review of several new books on the impact of ocean over-fishing, Elizabeth Kolbert writes about the decimation of the Atlantic bluefin, a fish that can sell for as much as $340 a pound. Given that kind of price, and given very little international oversight, the bluefin has been "fished into oblivion." Yet a recent United Nations initiative to protect the bluefin was defeated by a wide margin. Not long after that disappointing vote, and just as bluefin spawning season was about to begin, the Deepwater Horizon rig exploded, spewing more than 4 million barrels of oil into one of two confirmed bluefin spawning areas, the Gulf of Mexico.

I stopped eating red meat and poultry years ago, after a friend lent me Peter Singer's Animal Liberation. But I kept fish in my diet, under the impression that wild-caught or sustainably-farmed fish were more fairly treated and healthier to eat than their land-based counterparts in the animal kingdom. That may still be true.

Yet as I contemplated the condition of the oceans and my compulsion to bring something home that represented the value of my time by and in the rolling waves, I realized I had already taken more than my share from those waters. I did not need to remove one more thing from the beach. Instead I needed to offer the sea something back: my respect.

We will always be drawn to the ocean for the rich resources that dwell within, and for its captivating rhythm and beauty. Yet as Henry David Thoreau once said, "A man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can afford to let alone." For now, I'm going to pay careful attention to the kind of fish I eat, and keep the ones that are endangered off my plate. And if I ever do find a whole sand dollar, I will thank my lucky stars - and leave it where it is.