Waves

     We spent a week by the ocean. We had a view of the sea from the fifth floor balcony of our hotel room. Most days the sea and sky matched in a grayish cloudy hue and the white crest of the waves defined the shore. The sun poked through the clouds enough to warm us and send us into the water for cool relief.

        Dave took a picture of me at the ocean a couple of years ago. My hands are on my hips, my back is toward him and I am looking out at the expanse of ocean. I remember that moment when I felt so small standing in a space so large. My concerns shrunk, my appreciation deepened.

        I love the ocean but I was terrified of waves as a child. And as an adult. I went out too far but not far enough. I was turned and choked by the crashing waves. It made me afraid and avoidant. I clung to the sand and the ankle-deep water. This fear dampened me as I watched my six-year-old enjoy the ocean last week.

     Haven was insatiably fearless with his boogie board. I watched him whirl inside a surprisingly big wave, sure he would come out crying and spitting. Instead, he pulled his body upright and screamed, in the highest- and loudest-pitched voice possible, "That was totally wicked!" and tugged his boogie board out to "catch" another wave. What makes one child terrified by waves and another empowered? I really didn't feel like encroaching on the depths of myself, but I decided it was time to quell my terror.

    That afternoon I spotted a gray-haired woman floated further than most of the swimmers. I pushed myself out into the water where she was. "Are you getting hit a lot out here?"

     "No, my hair isn't even wet."

     I nodded and floated on the swelling water. I watched the people with boogie boards and bravery allow the waves to crash them, turn them, rock them. Most of them squealed and laughed and return for more, as Haven had. I stayed in the calm.

     "I'm only staying out this far because you are." I told the woman who didn't realize she'd become my new friend. "I'm terrified of waves." 

     "Ok!" She wasn't much for conversation so I shut it until I saw the water begin to rise higher, higher, higher right near us. Higher than I was brave or knowledgeable enough to handle. Higher and higher. "Oh boy." I called out. A note of fear. A statement of helplessness. I thought to run to the shore.

     "Just turn your back to it and jump." Her voice was calm and confident and I clung to it like I would have clung to her arm had we actually been friends. I turned, I jumped, I was pulled up and let down. And it was over. Had I run to the shore, I would have gotten just far enough to be hit. 

     Isn't this what friendships are made of? I think of the many friends who have stood by me, promising they've done this, they can relate, and it actually turns out to be okay. I have made it through my life because of friends like this. I think of names that will always be blazoned on my heart for the beautiful souls they represent. Those voices which held me up in my weak moments and smiled gleefully in my triumphs. The promises that I was strong enough, beautiful enough, patient enough elevated me to meet my life without running. Just turn your back to it and jump. You totally got this. Or, if nothing else, I am here. 

    So now I can do the waves with my son. I will laugh and scream and love it.