Kay McClayne

The North Atlantic ocean is nature’s raw power unleashed. It roars, it crashes. It demands respect. It cares nothing for you; you are just another grain of sand. It stretches on towards Europe, miles and miles of open water. All you have to do to die is walk twenty feet and close your eyes. It will take you. But it doesn’t hate you. We call it “angry” but it isn’t. It is only powerful. Majestic. Unapologetically vast and unbridled. Wild. That’s what it is. Wild.

I’ve spent my life drawn powerfully to two forces: Power and peace.

I am fascinated by the former and long for the latter. You’d think they’re opposites, but they’re not.

The ocean breathes in and it’s power. White-capped waves crashing on the shore, powerful rip tides sucking you out, smothering coldness closing over your head, forces pulling at you until you feel your own smallness.

The ocean breathes out and it’s peace. Water lapping at your feet like a kiss, liquid surrounding you like the womb, cushioning you until you’re weightless. The sharp, harsh loudness of the world disappears and sensory experience brings you into the present. The salt in the wet air, the velvet water on your skin, the lullaby of the gulls flying over the cresting waves.

In my smallness, I find peace. The “you should be…” voice in my mind cannot shout louder than the waves. My expectations of myself disappear and I am only being. For once, it’s not hard to find the center of myself. Just a small grain of sand on the edge of a vast ocean.