I used to be afraid of the sea. Not just of drowning, not just of waves taller than me, but of the open water itself. The infinite stretching past the surface, unfathomable and heavy.
Beneath me, life kept moving in silence… alien grasses swaying, forests of kelp reaching upward, creatures strange and unseen. My imagination never rested. If I couldn’t see the bottom, my mind filled the dark with shadows. I’d panic, heart racing, lungs tightening. I didn’t trust my own body, didn’t trust my arms to remember how to move, how to carry me forward.
Even when I was swimming just fine, I believed I could forget in an instant. Or worse, something rising from the dark could stop me.
Fear can be like that. It doesn’t always care about logic. It invents monsters, even when none exist.
And still, even now, if kelp brushes my foot, a spark of anxiety shoots up my spine. The old fear hasn’t left me completely. But here is the difference, I no longer believe the sea is mine to control.
Instead, I trust myself. I trust my breath, my body, my rhythm. And I trust the water to be what it is. Vast. Unpredictable. Alive.
The ocean is not my world, but it lets me visit. That is enough. That is everything.
And so, I love it. The lakes, the oceans, the waves and weeds and alien lives. Every splash feels like an invitation, a reminder. I am only a guest here. A visitor. And what a gift it is to be allowed.
Maybe that’s the lesson the sea has been trying to teach me all along, not to conquer, not to cling, but to trust, to let go, and to be grateful.
I’ve been learning that same lesson on land, too.
For so long I fought to control my life. My career, my relationships, even my emotions. I thought if I held on tight enough, if I kept swimming hard enough, I could keep the bottom beneath me. But life, like the sea, doesn’t work that way.
When I moved into my van, when I left behind the comfort of routine, when I said goodbye to a version of a relationship I thought would last forever… I was back in deep water. No bottom in sight. My chest tight, my thoughts racing with every shadow of doubt.
But somewhere in that fear, I remembered what the sea taught me. I don’t need to control everything. I just need to trust myself to float, to breathe, to move forward.
I am a guest here, too. On this earth, in this body, in this season of life. And maybe that’s the beauty of it. Every day I get to visit. To learn. To love. To try again.
The sea reminds me that uncertainty doesn’t have to mean danger. It can mean possibility. It can mean wonder.
And so I keep swimming.
