In many ways, I was raised by the ocean.
The ocean was not a parental figure, for me, but more like a grandparent, a great elder, softening the ache I carried for one of my own.
In my teenage years, I pulled away from the ocean, as any rebellious grandchild would.
I was ashamed, I didn’t look right, I didn't fit. All the other kids who identified as ocean people had golden skin and bleached blonde hair. They had strong upper bodies and white smiles and what often seemed like an unnatural level of confidence. They would rise earlier than the rest of us and surf for school sport (I chose fishing instead, endlessly side-eyed by my teacher for not ever catching a thing) complaining about the lack of waves when there were none, grinning and laughing when the swell was good.
I may have loved surfing, but the thought of ever really trying, of standing out like a glow worm, pale skin luminescent in the sunrise made me physically recoil, and so I mostly ignored my fathers attempts to take me out on the longboard, and I never really learned.
I wondered how the other kids could be so brave — not in the face of the waves but to physically fail in front of each other, over and over again.
Despite much of my life revolving around the beach, I withdrew, mostly, from the water in my teenage years. I avoided it when the sun was high, afraid, even if no one said it out loud, they’d all be thinking: watch out, don’t get burned with a half smirk and perfect tan, warm and gorgeous in the sunlight.
I visited the ocean in the evenings instead, walking around the headlands, past three beaches and a blowhole, tracing a line along the edge of the earth with the water stretching out in every direction, the deepest, darkest blue you’ve ever seen. I’ve walked that path so many times it might just be worn out by my own feet. I always pause to look out at the many points where the ocean and the sky meet, in long, endless lines. It’s a blue without boundaries, as far as the eye can see.
The words: Everything is okay thrum, somewhere behind the back of my eyes, whenever I am there.
In no other place does this feel so true.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to The Deep Rest Salon to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.