Self-Preservation

I paraded into the ocean on an empty beach.

Isn’t it interesting? “Empty beach.” Empty of people. But it’s full of other things. Do you ever think about how many insects there are? If I knew, I’m not sure I could go on living. And not just to know as a figure, but true knowing. Like sprouting a third eye (and a fourth for depth perception) and seeing a little white glow for each one, up in the attic, the trees, all around me, and deep into the earth. I wonder if I’d still feel so lonely. I wonder if I’d be too frightened to ever feel lonely again.

And the sand! Have you ever seen sand under a microscope? It’s breathtaking. You could spend an entire lifetime ooing and ahhing at the individual grains of sand from a single beach. Maybe even from a single bucket. Add to that the larger seashells, the larger creatures, the washed up seaweed, the garbage either washed up or on it’s way to being washed out, the empty cigarette packs, the empty plastic bottles. I said it again. Empty. But they aren’t empty either. They’re full of tobacco residue, bacteria, droplets of water each containing some unseen atlantis. Again! “Unseen.” Unseen by human beings. We center ourselves. It’s only natural, but I wonder if it’s wise.

Anyway, I’m parading here!! Look at me!! I’m parading into this ocean on this empty beach, (as far as my first and second eyes can see.) And actually, they see even less than normal because of the cloudiness caused by my emotions and my focus. My parade causes a bit of a splash, but little more than the waves gently rolling onto the beach. And after a few strides each new step becomes a heavy push. I feel my resolve flinch for the first time since I left the house. I ignore it and keep pressing forward until the water is up to my chest. Then I stop. Even with the water nudging me back and forth, the most powerful liquid proved to be my own adrenaline. My resolve broke, and I stood there in terror. I began to shiver, my teeth clanking together like a crab giving a steady applause. I knew then that I wouldn’t take another step into the ocean, but I wasn’t ready yet to look back at the beach.

“Undertow,” I wondered. My eyes caught focus on the word and I set my jaw. I’ve never been much of a swimmer, or even a beach-goer. I actually love beachers, but I never go this far into the water. I like that I’m here, now. I like that I walked far enough out for my body’s self-preservation to kick in. It’s an interesting experience. I’ll—

Undertow. The word felt jagged in my mind, and just for a moment. My head was underwater now, and I’m not much of a swimmer. It’s like the wave reached down and tripped me. It’s like some witch in the ocean left a snare for me to step in, and had just pulled on it. I ended up horizontal, hands grazing against the sandy bottom as the water level deepened. I tried to stand, but kept getting knocked back. My arms and legs thrashed, trying anything to get control over the situation. I felt the sea water in my eyes and up my nose, but in my code-red moment I barely registered the discomfort of it. I needed to get my head above water. I needed to get back to the beach. I needed to get back to my empty life.

I managed to get high enough to take a breath. I managed to get a glimpse of how far i’d been pulled. I savored the air, but my heart sank at the sight of the growing distance. I’m not much of a swimmer. There would be no swimming against the current for me. I maneuvered myself sideways and back, just treading water and buying time to strategize. Eventually, the current slowed and stopped. Relief washed over me. I began to swim back to the shore.

But I’m not much of a swimmer. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime feeling to find your own physical limits when your life is at stake. I’ve pushed myself in the gym before. I’ve dug deep, sure. But today, this is the last thing I’ll ever do. I never knew how much I cared for myself, for my own life. I didn’t know I had all of these resources to draw upon. 5 minutes ago I had paraded into the ocean to die a romantic death in the sea. Back when I still had the option. Only once in my life will I get to feel what it’s like to be too tired to save myself. To feel the limits of this body who loves me. Because the truth is I never gave up. I never got too tired and gave up. I simply stopped being able to move enough to keep my head above the water. My best effort couldn’t kick my legs hard enough anymore, and I sank.

I couldn’t tell you how painful it was, to drown. It was a peak experience that I would have remembered for the rest of my life, even if I’d lived another 60 years. (Maybe if I got Althzhimers.. but nevermind.) I suppose I gave up, then. Death is ony natural. I barely had time to think about how stupid I’d been. I barely had time to feel how romantic it was to be swallowed by the sea. My world became the pain of not being able to meet my own need to breathe. I’d have done anything for it. But just this once, there was nothing I could do.