>Well it’s cold, lost and shame
Wash it all out
Please wash it all away

![image.png](https://images.hive.blog/DQmfNxr3FL7hNxugMYXmsRbh3hXdpXMXMFTJrCuuLyZeeVd/image.png)

I've always felt an overwhelming force drawing me to water. I have an illustration on my wall that says *I was meant to exist by the sea*. It's cutesy, and touristy, but it's true. I was. I never made much of this love for the waves. I'd gone to the beach a lot, as a small girl, so I suppose I attributed it to that. Now, though, I'm not so sure. I wonder if there's something, in my genes, in my coding that explains this connection to the water. Maybe an ancestral connection of some sort. I'm learning a bit about those,  about familial constellations, and how our ancestors' experiences shape our own. But I don't yet know enough to attribute it to that.

Naturally, through my travels, I sought out the sea and the waves almost incessantly, and I wanted to talk a bit about that. When I first left, I headed straight for Zadar, in Croatia, a small seaside tourist destination that was mercifully free of tourists in September. I would spend days sitting on the beach, getting tanned, and writing. Often, I'd write until all light went out, and all air got cold, then I'd pack up shop and head home. I also swam a lot, which was a strange experience. Because although the weather was sweltering, the sea was growing cold. Summer was dying, and swimming became more and more of a driven, organized project. Less mucking about in the water, and more vigorous movement, to keep the cold at bay.

![image.png](https://images.hive.blog/DQmVzwehtzQvETxXweb6FWWKf1RfqWXhkD5xTdq85uUrYwR/image.png)


I did the same later, in Spain, though less frequently. In December, the sea's cold as balls, but there's benefit to that, also. Our bodies need the challenge, and more often than not, the concentrating force. It takes tremendous focus, and willpower to fight off the encroaching cold, or to keep yourself when the sea's a little turbulent.

**Most importantly, it reminds the swimmer she's here. Now. And that whatever's going on in her head isn't going to change the cold. So you better kick your feet.**

As I spent more time in these seaside towns, though, I came to see it wasn't just about sunbathing, or swimming. There's a great calm in the waves. Actually, I think I heard somewhere mental patients are comforted by the sound of waves. 

**No. Not by the sound. By their constancy.**

Madness is the absence of any constant line. The plunge into utter, unstoppable chaos. And the fear that your grip will loosen, and you'll lose reality altogether. Waves are a way of fighting that. It's maybe why the sea has always been a strong motif in the works of great artists. With its wonderful contrast, toeing the line of chaos and promise. The sea is always there. Ungoverned. Unstoppable.


![image.png](https://images.hive.blog/DQmTaKH6dCh3ZiTQ2RZcT9C7KJnynEiVimRiWKvVxJUXpde/image.png)


A lot of peoples think the end of the world (the previous one) came by way of water. See the great flood, and a whole lot other stories, a lot older than that. There's probably some truth there.

Last month, I was standing with my family on a cliff. In Portugal. I was upset, because I'd argued with my mother the previous day. Then this great big, sky-high wave rushed over the cliff, out of nowhere, and cascaded over us. Everyone laughed at getting soaked, and at how amazing and unexpected the moment was. Force of nature. A sort of "get the fuck out of your own head". Miracles are happening. And great deluges. What have you got that's of equal value? As long as the answer is nothing, think less.

The water's always had that power for me. Tugging my sleeve, and saying hey. Hey. The night before my grandmother died, I was miles away. I walked on a beach, in Italy, and knew, even though I didn't know I knew yet. 

There's more power to the water than just soaking you to the skin. That's play-biting. It's waking you up, but you can choose to stay asleep. At your peril. You won't know when the next great deluge comes if you don't open your eyes.


![image.png](https://images.hive.blog/DQmV19fUBs3GbFxYH7un1wdmTGhEdV4z1iAjEzSr92cMoT1/image.png)


Of all the places I saw while abroad, I cherished none more than my time near the water. Even on sucky, rainy days, I made my way down, and walked the beach for hours, listening to podcasts, and thinking, and writing. It was an occasion of such deep, and extraordinary catharsis like I've never known before. 

**Be here now.**

...but also...

**You're stronger than you think. You have, inside you, unfathomable capacity for growth.**

I don't think I could've changed, had it not been for the constant of water in my life. I don't think I'd know the line between calm and my own madness quite so well, either. My travels, while answering many questions, inevitably created more. Such as where I want my place to be. But wherever it is, I know it's going to be by the water. Somewhere small. Because the city and the malls and the sound of cars have come to suffocate me, where they didn't phase me before.

I miss my water.

https://youtu.be/q_jEodk8TXc
*A song that's always been about taking the reins, for me. It's where the quote at the beginning of this hails from. Happy Sunday.*