February 21, 2021

One wild windy, shockingly beautiful February day, a swim and a beach walk with whipped ears and white caps and a shimmering sun sparkled sea and flying sea mist and this refrain,

“I’m so happy! I’m so happy!”

Amazing the difference a day can make. On those glorious days when everything aligns and you hover over the ground, bliss-filled and hope-full you forget that it won’t last just as on the dark days when all seems twisted and wrought with tension and grief you forget that even those times won’t last.

Everything changes. We can look to the water for the bliss and we can look to the water for the dark. We can try and hold the waves and wind and freeze time and make the sunshine stay. It will not.

Life is an endless churning sea—calm and stormy and full of endless beauty, and endless challenges.

Swimming in the sea has taught me how to face some challenges head on. Sometimes it works to dive headlong into the wind whipped waves not knowing where exactly I’ll catch my next breath, with only myself to trust and blame if I come up with a mouthful of salty sea water. I have only the strength of my body and my will to lean on. Testing my strength in the water, pushing through the discomfort and releasing fear has empowered me in a way that nothing else has.

Every time I step into the water, I embark on a new adventure. It is thrilling.

I have my past experiences and growing knowledge as a guide. I try to protect myself with my best judgement and let the next moment arrive to find out what I will need to do. I may break through the surface breathless with joy or breathless with fear. It’s up to me. And the sea is indifferent. There is no judgement from the sea, only myself.

Yesterday, I dove headlong into the biggest waves yet as an open water swimmer. I wasn’t alone. And I was very glad to not be alone. Not so much out of fear of being alone, but out of the joy found sharing this exquisite day with another.

Liz, my son’s teacher, joined me for her second Salish Sea swim. Her first swim was under a freezing rain. Her second swim was under a brilliant sunny sky and in 3-foot waves, capped in white, with a blustery southern wind strong enough to blow my dog’s floppy ears high into the air and cause seagulls to flap in place in the sky, unable to make forward progress.

Liz and I were ecstatic. I had thought we might change our plan, and take a swim from the head of the bay, out of the hurling wind, feeling unsure myself of whether the water would be too much for us to manage. In the morning I rose and walked to the still head of the bay, and found brackish water, solid brown and ugly to a swimmer’s eye. The water was less than inviting.

When Liz arrived we deliberated, and leaning on each other’s adventuresome spirits decided to try the landing, face the wind and hopefully clearer seas. She is an experienced swimmer, and told me about her time teaching and competing in lake swims and triathlons. Yes, we would be fine.

At the landing the towering fir and cedar trees danced and waved wildly, and in the distance the seas rolled and spewed waves onto the beach, crashing in foamy white one upon the other in rapid succession.

We looked at each other. And frantically chatted and sorted our gear, both of us growing more giddy by the second.

“Should we be doing this?” Liz asked.

“I think so…….yes! We can always get out.”

In we went.

The thrill of anticipation was matched only by the thrill of the waves, and the delight in finding the wind and water feeling warmer than our previous swim together.

I told Liz about my skin swim of the night before, and could hardly believe it had only been one day. It felt like a lifetime ago, on another planet.

We hopped in up to our waists and like the girl I once was I jumped up and down in the wild sea, the water splashing me full on in the face while my hands clapped the water and I whooped like a banshee.

The waves and wind decided our course for us, and after a few more gear adjustments we began our swim north, the waves and wind pushing us forward with tremendous ease. We swam and body surfed towards the mouth of the bay, the water near shore fuzzy green and growing brown as we went.

We swam close around the steep spit, littered with piles of clam shells and found still water waiting. It was calm here. We paused from time to time, looked around.

“I’m so happy,” Liz said with a huge grin.

This was a good swim. I smiled back and we talked of seals and summer and more swim adventures and how much we both love to swim.

Back outside the bay, the swim float broke free and Liz chased it down. Breathless we both laughed in relief, and my biggest fear that a neighbor might see the free floating buoy and think we were lost to the deep.

Far from it. We were found. I didn’t want the swim to end and slowly chopped southward outside the spit while Liz kept watch along the shore, opting to exit and enjoy the beach.

Back on land we drank homemade chai and smiled a lot. We had made it and it was good.

Later on, as the day darkened I took my dog to the beach. The wind was colder and great gusts blew loudly through the trees.

Again I was struck by the forces around me. My dog and I walked the beach, and found smells and shells.

And we were grateful.