This is a lovely place. A mind-soothing place. A haven. I don’t know what to do about this sneaky anxiety that I never want to leave. I mean, I suppose there’s more than one reason for that, but it still has mainly to do with being utterly captivated by the ocean.
It’s almost seems like an innate trait, this love of the coast. Sort of like whether or not you like cats or dogs. Some people are cat people and some just aren’t. And then, some people love the sea, and it captures them as completely as adorable kittens do with cat people.
I’m watching sea and sky and pondering all the fleeting thoughts of an empty head. I find myself wondering… does the world really matter? And then my perception tilts ever so slightly and I realize: the world is the only thing that matters. We are the ones who come and go across the surface, like the clouds across the sky.
We are the clouds, aren’t we? Adding our rain to the sea, giving back to the great body of water we originated from. The sea gives, new clouds are formed, and the cycle goes on. As individual clouds we are both crucial and in consequential.
Does that sound despairing? It isn’t meant to be. Quite the opposite, in fact. It is difficult to understand how the emptiness can feel good when you see it from the outside. What could be positive about a void? I struggle to find the words to explain it, myself. But with the nothingness of vast distance and quiet there comes an absolute tranquility, and that’s what I’ve been embracing. That’s what makes me feel good.
Occasionally, I worry that my attitudes about peace and calm make me boring. I am much more interested in being at peace than I am in seeking thrills. To me, finding that elevated state of almost ineffable serenity is a thrill. It is a relief from the anxiety and weariness that I am used to encountering.
I am fortunate to be able to find moments of serenity. I know this. I think about other parts of my life where such experiences would’ve seemed unattainable, even laughable for their impossibility. The difficult thing for me is the attempt to pass on the sensation. It is one of those things that slips out of my hands. How to explain how I got here? How to find it? How to believe it is possible?
I suppose looking for it is the first step. I may not be able to capture the procedure, but I can safely assume that wanting to be at peace has to come first. Beyond that, I am not certain. I suppose having some measure of faith is involved. Faith in potential, mind you. I’m not inclined to religion or even much for spirituality in any sturdy sense. But there’s a threshold of belief for this kind of state. You have to believe beyond your own doubts, which is another thing I don’t know how to explain.
I guess it ties into being hopeful. Hope is worth more than anything else I can think of. Even a little bit goes an incredibly long way. I have had specks of hope that refuse to fade out for a long time now. These specks grow, they spread out to the point where I find myself with a beacon of it.
What if you don’t have any hope? Start with stubbornness. Start with being too ornery to give up on yourself. Prove them wrong. Prove yourself wrong, if there is no “them.” The world is going to take you on… and maybe you’ll learn to take it on right back.
I wish there was more I could do. More I could say to clarify this lightness of spirit that visits me. I sincerely hope that even knowing it’s possible might be enough to spur another person’s experience of this peace and contentment.
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