Something in the way the creases of the earth move with the water, makes something out of me. I can’t help that I’m not simple. I can’t look at an ocean and think of a future Facebook post; I think of the way the ocean is a metaphor for life. The further we swim out into the sea and allow it to take control of us, the less the waves crash. For years I wouldn’t swim past my waist. Sometimes, I wouldn’t even go that far. I watched it from afar and remembered the times where I could see to the very bottom and wish it wasn’t so muggy in the water and then maybe I’d jump in. As I’ve grown to love the water again like I had when I was younger, I decided to swim again. I put on a black one-piece so the waves wouldn’t crash and leave me hoping my swimsuit wasn’t on me anymore. I wanted to jump into the ocean without abandon. So I did. I let my mind wander from the possible stingrays and sharks that lived under the murkiness. As I went further I realized how much the current took me away and I let go. I let go and it wasn’t so hard anymore. I looked towards the sand and watched the waves push people down and realized how much calmer it was just past the waves. I was floating on the current – bobbing up and down among the aftermath of a wave disappearing into nothing. I felt weightless and my fear turned into awe. I felt like the mermaid I claimed to be and I wanted to be alone, flight-filled in my fantasy of forever floating on the humped-backs of the waves. If only we could look past the thunder that comes before us, or really, what we should do is tackle it. Crash into the wave and become apart of it; see it as not an obstacle but the roughness that makes the roars of the ocean what it is. The roars that pop up in paintings and create white foam that looks like bath soap. The roar that comes from the hidden moon, the one that moves with us as we do. And then when you’re through crashing and floating, the waves float you right back up to shore, just the way you came.