Thoughts From Places #1

Today Raven and I went to the beach. We frolicked in the waves and soaked up the sun (in my case a bit too literally). Originally we were going to kayak on the beautiful, serene lake that we are fortunate enough to live near… but the beautiful, serene lake was less serene and more possessed by angry wind demons today. Less boating, but awesome waves at the beach. Raven and I braved cold water and colder wind to throw ourselves at the cresting water with the abandon of the silliest of children. Fitting because we were the only ones in the water over the age of 16.

As we threw ourselves at the waves we watched kite-surfers throw themselves into the sky with equal abandon. I felt alive and aware and completely in the moment, something I yearn towards feeling at all times. It strikes me that feeling alive is usually correlated fairly strongly with meeting and facing things that could kill you. Skydiving, climbing Mt. Everest, braving Death Valley, running with the bulls, singing karaoke. Okay, that last one probably won’t kill you, but I remain unconvinced. We derive joy and excitement from facing our deaths. Facing something that is larger or more powerful than ourselves.

I grew up on the Atlantic Ocean and spent most summers diving into the freezing northern Atlantic waters – lips blue, arms numb, ice running through my veins. It remains one of my fondest memories of childhood and stands out clearly in my memory. It also remains one of my earliest memories of terror (aside from the standard monster under the bed variety). The ocean to me as a child (and even today) is a vast unknowable thing. It may not be infinite, but neither can I see nor imagine its whole and so is the closest thing on this earth to infinite that I have experienced.  And it is one of my most indelible memories. Etched into my memory by fear and awe.

As I threw myself at a far smaller body of water this afternoon I felt a similar feeling of awe (though admittedly less fear), but my sense of awe came not from living close to death and instead came more from a feeling of oneness. I couldn’t see the bottom where my feet were buried in sand, but I could close my eyes and feel the movement of the water, the pull of the sand, the chill of the wind and I was a part of it. I felt connected and infinite. Both incredibly large and infinitesimally small.

Perhaps we don’t pull the marrow of our lives from living on the brink of death, but from throwing us into the infinite and (for a time) allowing it to absorb a part of our being.