Sink or Swim

I sit watching another ship pass by on the horizon, transporting it’s cargo to ports faraway. My spirit remains restless, my being transfixed by the constant sound of the waves slapping the shoreline. The water calls to me shows me the possibilities of freedom. Sink or swim? I don’t swim. Here I sit, stranded; lost in daydreams guided by ships.

I look up to view the two Jack Pines shading me with their scruffy canopies over the high bank from where I watch. A couple of paths travel down to the sand, but the steep incline discourages entrance for agate hunters or beach walkers. They have easier routes from which to choose. This area remains lightly traversed. I can easily sit undisturbed with my thoughts. I can’t see the shoreline, although I can here chatter below me as people meander by, occupied with their own treasure hunts. I can only see far out to the vast water from my viewing spot on the bank.

I like to sit alone on this high bank by the shore, watching the ships sail by on the thin line between water and sky while becoming entranced by the rhythmic sound of the waves. Not too close. The thought of the water merely touching my bare toes sends chills down my spine as it reminds me of the time I nearly drown. I like to sit safely on the stagnant soil with no chance of being pulled into the suffocating water. I like to breathe. I like the comfort of the soft grass.

I was a child when I almost drown in a fancy swimming pool. The unrelenting blue swirled me in somersaults and stole my breath. Twisted and upside-down, I was stuck underwater. Alone. I finally found the surface and rose to freedom. To fresh air. The adults, sitting nearby, caught up in conversation, simply scoffed at my tears and panic. They told me I was okay and to go play with my cousins. Sulking mutely, I obediently rejoined the other kids. They laughed and splashed in the deeper end of the swimming pool. I stayed on the concrete edge, outside of the water, watching.

I came out of that experience appearing as the same young girl but forever changed intellectually; seemingly reborn. Over the years, I tried to overcome the experience and tackle my fears, but with time, it has now progressed to near panic if the wild water so much as touches me, let alone the possibility of being splashed by anyone. I prefer to sit on the shoreline and watch contentedly alone, inspired by the peacefulness in the water’s constant conversation. I love the sounds and smells of the Great Lakes, but on my own terms.

I sit quietly contemplating the choices I’d made in getting to this place, now I earnestly mulled over what I needed to do next to get to where I wanted because this turns out not to be it. I stared at the vessel gliding over the far water.

I had moved to this foreign, yet familiar, place with my husband about a year ago. A relationship made significant by my insignificance. Now a state existed between where I grew up, and where I currently resided. I found this place of solitude while on yet another lonely walk, trying to find an escape from claustrophobic walls in a controlled space.

As the ship passed, I was drawn to stand and approach the vast blue body of the Great Lake. I turned to go as the ship sailed from view but first dipped a toe curiously into the talkative water. I held my breath. It did not pull me in. Instead, I found myself invited to enter the depths. I walked away with clarity. I had a new beginning to contemplate.