For the Love of Ocean

He drives to the ocean as often as possible, just to make sure that it’s still there. This makes total sense to me as someone who once drove straight across the state of Nebraska in July. The sight of an ocean is not just calming, it’s reassuring. Reassuring of what, exactly, I do not know but intend to find out.

When I was a little kid, heck, even as a prepubescent pipsqueak, each time I saw water my instinct was to jump in. It was in my adolescence and adulthood that I learned to fear water for some reason. No, not a real fear. It’s just that fear I have of discomfort that gets me. That sudden shock of cold, the wetness, the change. You could psychoanalyze that all day, I’m sure, but the reality is—I am not unlike most adults I know. Most of us like to stay warm, dry, and unencumbered. Why is that? Wet and enveloped is just so much….better.

Over the past year, I have gone from being jaded to a few shades left of enlightened. The jade that I immersed myself in was powerful and it took a hot minute to slash my way out of that. I’m not sure what did it but I do think the vaccine played a big part. To go from worrying about touching all objects to not is a huge weight off of my shoulders and I don’t think that can be underestimated. Living with older folks is at once amazing and daunting, particularly during a deadly pandemic. To be honest, the fact that I already knew I had OCD pre-Covid was a huge help. I constantly caught myself spiraling and pulled the emergency break on more than one occasion. It wasn’t always pretty. In fact, it was downright horrifying. But, as the vaccines slowly trickled in for all 6 members of our household, I felt my jaw muscles release just enough to allow me to laugh again, laugh out loud.

Yes, the ocean is still there and pounding our ever-changing shore. The water, with all its salt, will still prune my fingers and lips. I went to the ocean with Meg when all this madness began two years ago. So many other people were there on an unusually warm March day, looking just as beset with worry. We sat on the rocks and sand of Hummarock Beach and we expressed rivaling disbelief at what was unfolding before our eyes with 7 children in tote. We weren’t even sure if we were supposed to be there together. In fact, I’m now quite sure that I told no one that we went together simply to avoid that judgment. The ocean, though. The ocean that day was both rough and calm, frigid yet tropical in color. That smell, you know that smell. It filled our noses and I felt like crying for the first time in a while. What, exactly, was happening and how was it all going to play out? Neither of us had the answer. So we sat on those rocks, warmed tepid from the sun, and stared at our kids playing innocently along the shore. I remember thinking “this is a scene that has played out millions of times over the years no matter what” and that, with the sound of the ocean, comforted me. It really did. Two weeks later I bought a wetsuit that I have yet to wear. There is still time, still time.

I cannot say with any certainty that the ocean will always be there as I know our planet is one to change, much like us. However, I will say with clarity that no matter where you are right now, that finding a body of water somewhere, somehow, will bring you a peace that cannot be bought. Seek it out, find it, sit by it, and rest. Rest in the knowledge that this one thing, this combination of atoms, is what calms and restores all of us in the midst of any storm.