For all my adult life, I dreamed of living near the ocean. I always felt better when I was near it - the smell of salt in the air carried the promise of openness, connectedness, and rest. The shore was littered with treasures, changing every day. I felt drawn to the power and moodiness of the waves, the way they seemed to command the sky to be more dramatic around them than anywhere else. Most of all, I loved looking out to the horizon. On my toughest days, I’d cancel everything and take myself there. Just to see it. Just to feel that expanse.
My lungs opened. My muscles relaxed. My heart softened.
There were no walls to contain me here, only space, and I was but a dot no more significant than a grain of sand.
I used to imagine a small house from which I could hear the waves in the morning. I’d sit on my deck and write, breathing the crispy, cold, salty air. I’d walk along the beach, run into the water to wake up and swim. I’d get to know the tides. I’d know what time it was by how close the waves were rolling into shore. I’d know the ocean on its quiet days, and its angry ones. I’d love and respect it in all its shades.
Now that I write it, I used to imagine being as in tune with the ocean as I would have liked to be with myself. It seemed easier, then, to imagine embracing this wild force outside of me than the one that was not allowed, then, within me.
As we transitioned into autumn this week, it occurred to me that I didn’t see the ocean once this summer. Granted, I was living through the French winter for most of it. But even so, it’s unlike me. It made me wonder if I don’t need the ocean like I used to. I don’t need to drive over an hour just to breathe, to remind myself that I am not closed in. This is a good thing.
I still love the ocean, in any season, anywhere in the world (the more shores I visit, the more they all feel the same, in the best way. The points where the oceans and seas meet land are language-less.) But I no longer need to be standing barefoot on sand to be reminded just how like the sand I am. I no longer need to smell salt in the air to feel close to freedom. I no longer need to stand right in front of it, listening to the crash, crash, crash; to feel that power, that moodiness, that wildness that is not only ok but unapologetic, unquestionable.
It simply is.
I simply am (we simply are).
I no longer need to be able to see all the way into the distance to know that I am free.
To each of our wild forces,
Amy