The east coast doesn’t have waves.
I saw exactly zero waves* while I was there and in the Caribbean for 10 days. I love waves and loathed every minute there weren’t any–loved the water, hated the lack of waves.
I blame the continental shelf, but I think there is an important lesson that can come from this.
I’ve always described my experience this last year as drowning, as trying to keep my head above water and mostly failing.
That was literally impossible where I was vacationing. I could walk miles out and still be standing. There were no waves to crash over my head and force me under.
I wrote last about how stressed I was when I left on vacation. If stress and depression and anxiety and obligations are waves, I needed some time without them.
That’s exactly what those 10 days were. Waveless.
There honestly better be other metaphorical lessons that come from this. Because this lesson is cool, but real waves are awesome and I wanted them.
Maybe I need to consider something else. I often ask to have reprieves from trial–if only so I can get my feet under me–and those times seem rare, and don’t really seem to help that much.
Maybe what I really ought to pray for is the strength to ride the waves into shore.
Maybe this just turned into a cooler lesson and a body surfing metaphor.
* by my definition, a wave must both break and be at least two feet to count.