Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I practically grew up on water. The first time I saw the ocean I was sixteen; until then this north-midwestern girl had only seen the sea on TV, in movies, and in tropical beach calendars. I remember that first visit feeling somewhat magical; a spring break trip filled with many ‘firsts’ including my first plane ride and the first time I saw palm trees that weren’t growing in a bucket in the mall. Somehow they’re still magical to me, too.
But never could I have guessed at sixteen that in the next twenty years I’d have the opportunity to stick my feet into dozens of oceans, seas, and other exotic bodies of water. More than that, I’ve sailed across them. I’m a ‘royal diamond shellback’, having sailed over 0’0’ (latitude-longitude) and have lived on both the Atlantic and Pacific coasts of North America along with both the Atlantic and Indian coasts of Africa. The Indian ocean is especially memorable; the beaches surrounding Madagascar some of the most beautiful I’ve ever experienced; with the Sierra Leonean Atlantic a close second. The penguins at Simon's Town in South Africa, surfing in Biarritz, France, the needles of pain before numbness settled in while wading in the frigid waters off the Washington State Pacific coast in January.
Not every memory is magical. A few years ago I was on the beach with some friends, traveling along in a sand vehicle, when we stopped in a deserted area to let some air out of the tires. Suddenly two men came out from behind a dune, and my first thought was they must want to see if we need help. How wrong I was. They could have been cast members in a “Pirates of the Caribbean” movie, lean and strong with scraggly long dreadlocked hair, gaping teeth, ripped and tattered shorts, and large weapons in their hands. One with a machete and one with an axe; the girls were screaming, I was frozen, the men were yelling, they grabbed at us and took whatever they could get ahold of, including ripping off my necklace and searching my pockets for a phone, cash, or anything else of value. Then they let us go.
A few seconds after we had continued on our journey the full force of what had just happened hit me and I fought for the next several hours to not completely fall apart. I could hardly speak and my tongue was bleeding from clenching my jaw so hard to keep it together. When I finally could let it go, I sobbed. It was, and still is, one of the scariest things I’ve ever experienced. I had trouble sleeping that night; fear was having its heyday, causing me to wonder if maybe I needed to go home or to consider a different career path.
I knew that night that this could be a life-transforming event that might alter the trajectory of my entire existance… but, stubborn as I am, I decided right then, after getting out all the tears within me, I didn’t want it to be. I had every right to be fearful and no one would have questioned an emergency return home; but fear is not the boss of me. I was scared to go to the bathroom that night but I went; the next day, everything in me wanted to stay far away from the beach, but knowing I couldn’t let fear win, I went anyway; we intentionally walked the beach (far from where this event happened). My earnest prayer became please let this just become that one thing that happened that one time,not something that requires years of therapy and a career change.
And thankfully, that’s exactly what happened. Fear is not the boss of me. Love is the boss of me.
It didn’t happen overnight; it took awhile for beaches, especially in that part of the world, to regain their magical properties. But it could have been so much worse. We were not physically harmed, they could have taken our vehicle but they didn’t, and somehow their eyes were blinded to the fact that our backpacks, with cash, electronics, and passports, were under the seat we were sitting on. Now I’m more careful with what I carry with me, and I only wear jewelry I don’t care about when I am on this side of the sea… my grandmother’s diamond necklace stays safely packed away back home.
These last couple of days I spent at a beach resort about an hour and a half from where I live. It was so nice to unplug, and I spent quite a lot of time on the beach, which brought all of this back to mind. While I love the beach, there is still a check in my spirit, an extra vigilance that wasn’t there before, and I don’t think this is a bad thing. A little bit of fear; in the room, but not allowed to make decisions for me, does invite an awareness and acknowledge that not all is right with the world. I welcome that little nagging wonder, as it brings me to my knees, either proverbially or literally; it opens my eyes and ears to things both seen and unseen, it brings forth a whispered prayer of protection and guidance where I might not otherwise be inclined to pray. I don’t think that could ever be a bad thing.
Thankfully, beaches are still magical places, as I find myself continuing on the adventurous life. They’re still places of healing and rest and beauty, something to look forward to and explore. They’re a testament in my life that fear doesn’t have to rule and reign, and any darkness can be made light again, that nothing is outside the possibility of redemption.
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| Simon's Town, South Africa |
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