I nearly died in the ocean, twice.
Once caught helplessly in a Caribbean undertow. The second instance being tossed against the lava coastline of Hawaii. I was saying my final goodbyes, and I somehow survived.
I'll forever be thankful and I’ll forever respect the ocean.
Over the last year, my relationship with the ocean has changed, shifting from one of fear to one of gratitude, with a side of curiosity. My love for steelhead (Searun Rainbow Trout) keeps bringing me back to Oregon’s coastal tributaries and their confluences with the Pacific Ocean. I even took surfing lessons to conquer my fears and see waves in a new way. Most importantly, a daily meditation habit has shifted my mindset about the source of 97% of the earth's water.
My perspective of the ocean made another – definitive – change last week on my drive to the Oregon Coast. As with most time spent in my truck, I listened to a book: The Untethered Soul by Michael Singer.
It's a recommended read (listen) for all, but especially those exploring mindfulness, which I am. It's the first book I've ever read on Blinkist, listened to on Audible, and inked into my Field Notes journal, all within a 48 hour period.
In his chapter "Who Are You?" Singer defines YOU as:
“I am the one who sees. From back in here somewhere, I look out, and I am aware of events, thoughts, and emotions that pass before me.”
Hearing this simple idea, I immediately crafted a mental metaphor for who I am and what I see: the ocean.
It goes something like this.
The metaphor begins as I stroll down to the beach, find a large driftwood stump, sit down, and watch the waves roll in.
The Weather
The weather represents the worldly events that are out of my control, both big and small. Big events could include climate change, the economy, peace talks, pandemics, and the natural wonders of the world. Small events could be the loss of loved ones, an inherited disease, a new opportunity at work, or a random invite on a trip of a lifetime. The weather always changes, and the weather never stops. I have no say in the forecast. I can get upset about rain, but it's still going to rain. There is good weather and there is bad weather just as the world brings good events (new opportunities) and bad events (mortality).
The Waves
What the weather impacts most are the waves. The waves represent my feelings and emotions about the weather. Bad weather brings dark skies and rough seas. Good weather brings sunny skies and calm seas.
My rough seas include sadness from the loss of my grandma. Loneliness when Linsey is away, anxiety over investments, or an overall feeling of self-doubt in my ability to meet my expectations.
My calm seas arise as I watch Linsey cry tears of joy in another Ironman victory, land a bright steelhead, grow mentally, physically and professionally, hug my mom and dad, pet my dog, meditate. These rolling waves warm my heart and make me happy.
A new day brings new unpredictable weather on the horizon and a new set of waves. The weather and thus the waves, both good and bad, are ever-changing.
The Watcher
In this metaphor, I am the watcher. I sit on my stump on the beach. Watching. Watching the wind-battled waves coming from a storm followed by the gentle waves of a soothing sunrise.
The only thing I can control as I watch my thoughts is my attitude. Even a rain jacket won't stop the rain. But a positive mindset tells me this nasty squall too will pass and bring new waves of happiness.
I also realize my time to watch the waves will eventually come to an end, so I might as well enjoy the time I have. Maybe tomorrow, maybe decades from now. The weather and the waves will never stop, but the watcher will be gone.
Until then, you can find me on my stump – armed with my attitude – watching the waters that nearly claimed my fleeting life.
Twice.
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A special thanks to Ryan Wines for the strong and persistent book endorsement of The Untethered Soul.
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Another piece of writing inspired by my friends Mario Dot To and Nurture Theory (Ryan again). We believe the thinking that can only be found through public writing improves our lives. We call ourselves the Western Writers League and we’ll get pens made eventually.