The ocean doesn’t want you.
She rejects you time and again when you attempt to enter her depths. But then . . . an act of faith, a submersion, a push, and you are past her angst—you are in her. There you are nothing—a head bobbing on water, no duty, no service. Not waiting for anything to happen, but living in the happening, being the happening. Cool blue, nothing in the distance but that place where the sea meets the sky—the horizon. When you’re feeling dizzy, prevailing wisdom says, look at the horizon to regain your equilibrium.
You know something about who you are in that moment. Who you really are when you don’t have to be anything to anyone. A truth. And even if you don’t understand the truth, it’s still there—waiting to be grasped, accepted. Behind you are the screams of those in the shallow as waves pound their bodies, but you are safe, you are deep enough.
You can’t stay forever in her depths, promises forbid it. Life doesn’t all happen in the depths: some happens in the shallows, some on shifting sand, some on solid ground. When you’re ready, she shoots you out again—a messy, ungainly rebirth—crawling back to the life you made for yourself.