i grew up on the water and it remains the most important factor in most of my decisions: where should i go to school? (somethere on the water); how should i spend this lovely warm day? (by and in the water); it’s raining today, should i still go cold plunge? (yes, because water). my grandma, granny helen as we knew her, could float in the ocean the way i used to picture mary poppins resting up in her cloud. i thought it was an act of pure magic. i tried time and time again to emulate her complete stillness: to lift my toes above the water, just as she did, to move nothing but my hands, gently, beneath the surface of the water, just as she did. but to no avail. all of my young and futile efforts coincided with a seemingly unshakeable fear of the ocean’s depths, a refusal to be the only one in the water, a state of paralysis that i would now call true panic coming over me when i noticed i was the furthest one out. 

i understand now that granny’s ease was not magic, but simply her surrendering to the water, her absolute trust in its ability to keep her lifted. the ocean is a lesson in this way. it is a lesson in this way and in so many others. the ocean is a teacher, a playground, a healer, a provider, and a powerful, living entity. the ocean has bore witness to some of my favorite memories with some of my favorite people, some of which only exist in the minds of those who remember, and some of which i managed to capture.