The sun shone upon me and the wind blew me toward the ocean.
There I stood—small yet significant—and you became that ocean.
That day, you were wild and unpredictable. I tried to reach the depths of you, but you kept me at bay.
When I thought I was making headway, a set came in and I found myself back where I’d started.
I pleaded with you to let me enter your depths, to explore, but somehow you knew that I wasn’t ready. I cried, frustrated, confused, and defeated—why not let me get closer to you, why push me back?
I relinquished and played in your shallow waters. I felt like a child again learning to stand. I tried to laugh at the attempts to stand in the white water, yet something within me knew I was ready for much more.
To me, this was us. This spoke of how things had been, how I’d tried so hard and yet wasn’t ready to enter your depths because I was scared. I was scared that halfway across and into no-man’s-land, if I couldn’t touch the bottom and a set came in, I would drown and never recover.
I was tired before I’d started, emotionally and physically, and I felt weak when I wanted to be strong. But I accepted it and let myself be. Not ready to completely give up, but acknowledging my limitations.
Then a friendly face told me I could go forward, and there was a way—a rip and a patience for the ocean that I wasn’t yet able to read.
With someone by my side, I entered your waters. At times I wanted to turn back to shore, but I was finally ready to face my fear. I was tired when I got halfway, to no-man’s-land again. I couldn’t touch the bottom and I couldn’t turn back.
I could only go forward.
I looked for this friendly face, but he’d disappeared. I was on my own—the universe’s way of testing me.
I was tired and couldn’t paddle any harder or anymore. I was in deep waters and out of my depth, and this is how I’d always felt. By the time the next big set came in though, I had no choice but to face it.
I made it. I was alive, unscathed, and it wasn’t as bad as I’d anticipated; in fact, the fear was worse. Yet out the back, out of my depth, with sets bigger than I’d planned, I lost my confidence to ride my way to shore.
With the help of a friend, I rode back in. I knew I needed to paddle back out again, but I was scared and swam to the shore. I wanted to reach you again and this time alone.
I did it all by myself—how I will never know. And when I had finally reached safety, I took deep breaths at the shore. I had tried, and I had cried.
Tomorrow is another day and I will always be ready to face you, however you present. Sometimes you’re small, clean, and gentle, and other times I’m unable to read you.
When I fight you with the wrong perspective, it never ends well, so I try to play with you and accept you as you are today—enjoying every moment we have together, even if in my head it’s not what I had planned.