The Riptide
The life lesson that brought me back to my time in the Caribbean
I remember one time I was on a boat off of some Island in the Caribbean somewhere between Anguilla and honestly, who knows, I didn’t have reception, and we were island hopping. We’d just been snorkeling off the coast of another island between St. Marten and St. Thomas, and while snorkeling, I asked for a life vest. I was 26, and it was then I realized that other countries didn’t have the same rules as the U.S. because no, I wouldn’t be getting a life vest. I was just expected to jump off the boat and swim around snorkeling, then swim back to the boat. I was instead given a foam noodle to make me feel better. (It did.)
Being half mermaid, loving the ocean and always wanting to be in the sea, but not being a great swimmer, I knew I needed to be careful. After snorkeling, we headed to our next island, two hours away. It was mid-February, and people were kind of cold, so I was the only one on the net, getting splashed on by the waves while we sped across the sea to the next Island.
They had mixed drinks; everyone was to have some. Except me, ever the practical one: 1. I wasn’t about to get sea sick 2. Um… drinking water in other countries? 3. We were about to spend the rest of the day on the beach, on a new island, I needed to be sharp.
We arrive, and nearly everyone has a buzz going, if not, they’re drunk. But wait, we’re really far from the coast. “That’s the closest the boat can get, only go if you’re a strong swimmer. If not, stay on the boat,” The captain said. There was no way I was going to stay on the boat, I went up to the crew member and asked for my floaty noodle, only this time, it was so far, they gave everyone noodles. I jumped into the ocean, and let myself warm up. My friend’s brother and I start swimming together as we were the first ones off the boat. He’s giggling like crazy, oh, he’s drunk, I realize. Then he goes, “It’s really far.” I try not to think about it, and we start swimming. And keep swimming. And we’re both out of breath. “I feel like we’re not going anywhere,” he says. And I realize we’re in a riptide. Gah, okay, I say this out loud, and we start swimming harder to get out of it, and then I remember, “It’s going to spit us back out,” I say, then he adds, “I think we’re supposed to swim parallel, not into it.” We do, and eventually it spits us out.
I was reminded of that metaphor recently as I had been trying so hard these past few months to get out of the state I was in, I was in a riptide. And I was swimming my hardest to get out of it, nonstop. When I should’ve been floating with my life saver. It wasn’t until I surrendered that I started to feel better. And because I surrendered… the riptide finally spit me back out. I’d forgotten those were the rules of the game.
When we got to the island, the waves were so strong they were knocking people over like bowling pins. We used it as a time to body surf. It was one of the most fun times in my life. I couldn’t stop laughing. I loved swimming, playing, feeling free. We were all tired on our way back to the catamaran. Especially swimming against the strong waves. I remember getting back on the net of the catamaran while everyone cozied up in sweaters and towels. I let myself get splashed on in between dozing off for the next two hours until we got back to our destination. I remember looking down at my tan skin, salt, water droplets, and goosebumps. Such a fun trip, such a great lesson. All you have to do is surrender… and just keep swimming.
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