As the boat slapped the waves, I looked across the ocean. The mist from the waves against the side sprayed my face. The large ones brought us up high, and dropped us hard. I felt my body react with fear when my belly lifted into free fall.
I’ve always connected to water in a unique way. It stands out to me more than any other element. When I hear it, the sound calms me. When I swim, energy shoots through my veins. When I stand at the coastline, I feel like I’ve come home. On the boat, I wondered about my fear. How can something I love and appreciate make me afraid? As I chewed on this thought, I remembered another moment when the power of the ocean terrified me.
I went surfing for the first time. The waves were going steadily, just right for a beginner. My guide insisted we walk until the water was above my waist. The deeper we went, the more I felt out of control. I struggled to hang on to my board as the waves whipped it around with strength. Nerves tickled my insides. I couldn’t focus on surfing. I was too frozen from my fear.
The ocean is beautiful, fierce, powerful, massive. She inspires me, soothes me, heals me, and pushes me to the edge of my comfort zone. What I realized on the boat was how this relationship is symbolic of how I think of myself. I’m often afraid of my own power. I stand still, wanting to avoid the discomfort, to walk back to the shallow end. The big waves inside of me swell with potential. I shake with anticipation for the moment they will release, and my life will feel like a slap against a boat.