The Ocean.
I rarely travel alone. It's not that I'm incapable of doing so, it's just that I don't get a chance to do it very often.
Lately, I've had a lot on my mind. The economy sucks, therefore I work a lot less and get paid less than I did. And my job could go away at any moment, which would make me very sad. The whole moving-to-the-Southwest plan sort of looms in the background like a thunderstorm in the distance. You can see it coming and hear the thunder every now and then, but it sort of doesn't matter 'right now.' Not very much anyway. Not to me.
However, points of contention arise as to what to do about the future, how to go about getting to wherever it is that we're going, and what to do about the whole job thing/economic situation. Arguments with myself--and my significant other--are common. Nothing is certain, and nothing seems clear. Weeks of calm can turn into a weekend of calamity with one wrongly shaded word, or a reminder of past painfulness. About two weeks ago I reached the limit of tolerance and bought a plane ticket. I went to see my sister in Florida and swam in the ocean for a couple of days.
As much as I love the mountains and the canyons, the ocean has always been the least of my favorite natural experiences because it's so damn hard to enjoy beyond splashing at the shore.
The ocean is unforgiving. One bad mistake, one bad storm, and you're dead. Out on a boat? I hope nothing goes wrong, because you'll probably die. Yep, the ocean will kill you. And I haven't even begun to discuss giant manta rays or sharks or jelly fish or any of the wildlife that could kill you. If the mountains are the the pillars of the earth that you may depend upon, the ocean is the dark abyss that is the unknowable, unconquerable, undependable dark night of the soul undulating upon the earth.
My experience with the Atlantic Ocean this weekend was happily splashy--never mind the "deadliest catch" hype. The irritating cold of the Pacific, even in Southern California, pisses me off because I can't even splash without freezing my ass off. Not so in Florida. The water was the perfect temperature. The waves were the perfect size for body surfing. The sun stayed out from under thunderstorms long enough to actually enjoy the beach until I was saltwater-cured. In fact, the first night I was there my sister took me to the ocean in the dark, with thunderstorms lighting up pink and orange far into the distance. It was the most perfect ocean swimming experience that I have ever had. The only thing that would have totally rocked my world would have been for the rest of the clouds to roll away and to see the last of the Perseid Meteor Shower while swimming in the waves (I have seen the Perseid meteors many times in the perfectly dark night skies of the Colorado Plateau. The Leonid shower can be quite good, too, although their November time frame can make for a very chilly viewing experience in the mountains).
I left Florida somewhat sunburned, calm and collected, and with a new soft spot in my heart for the ocean. There are now three tropical depressions/storms churning toward Florida as I type this. I guess people that live down there actually love the ocean a lot more than I do, because they endure the storms and keep coming back to be at the ocean's side.
Hm. Endure the storms. Keep coming back. Hm. It seems so emotionally unhealthy.
Hm.
Lately, I've had a lot on my mind. The economy sucks, therefore I work a lot less and get paid less than I did. And my job could go away at any moment, which would make me very sad. The whole moving-to-the-Southwest plan sort of looms in the background like a thunderstorm in the distance. You can see it coming and hear the thunder every now and then, but it sort of doesn't matter 'right now.' Not very much anyway. Not to me.
However, points of contention arise as to what to do about the future, how to go about getting to wherever it is that we're going, and what to do about the whole job thing/economic situation. Arguments with myself--and my significant other--are common. Nothing is certain, and nothing seems clear. Weeks of calm can turn into a weekend of calamity with one wrongly shaded word, or a reminder of past painfulness. About two weeks ago I reached the limit of tolerance and bought a plane ticket. I went to see my sister in Florida and swam in the ocean for a couple of days.
As much as I love the mountains and the canyons, the ocean has always been the least of my favorite natural experiences because it's so damn hard to enjoy beyond splashing at the shore.
The ocean is unforgiving. One bad mistake, one bad storm, and you're dead. Out on a boat? I hope nothing goes wrong, because you'll probably die. Yep, the ocean will kill you. And I haven't even begun to discuss giant manta rays or sharks or jelly fish or any of the wildlife that could kill you. If the mountains are the the pillars of the earth that you may depend upon, the ocean is the dark abyss that is the unknowable, unconquerable, undependable dark night of the soul undulating upon the earth.
My experience with the Atlantic Ocean this weekend was happily splashy--never mind the "deadliest catch" hype. The irritating cold of the Pacific, even in Southern California, pisses me off because I can't even splash without freezing my ass off. Not so in Florida. The water was the perfect temperature. The waves were the perfect size for body surfing. The sun stayed out from under thunderstorms long enough to actually enjoy the beach until I was saltwater-cured. In fact, the first night I was there my sister took me to the ocean in the dark, with thunderstorms lighting up pink and orange far into the distance. It was the most perfect ocean swimming experience that I have ever had. The only thing that would have totally rocked my world would have been for the rest of the clouds to roll away and to see the last of the Perseid Meteor Shower while swimming in the waves (I have seen the Perseid meteors many times in the perfectly dark night skies of the Colorado Plateau. The Leonid shower can be quite good, too, although their November time frame can make for a very chilly viewing experience in the mountains).
I left Florida somewhat sunburned, calm and collected, and with a new soft spot in my heart for the ocean. There are now three tropical depressions/storms churning toward Florida as I type this. I guess people that live down there actually love the ocean a lot more than I do, because they endure the storms and keep coming back to be at the ocean's side.
Hm. Endure the storms. Keep coming back. Hm. It seems so emotionally unhealthy.
Hm.
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