Born to Be

It is curious, the clarity that comes 30,000ft up. In the air again, to a different cold place, still cold all the same. Maybe this time she can formulate the feeling. A feeling she experienced, relished, and devoured but one she hasn't quite found a way to express. 

First there was the sand sinking between her toes with each step towards the sea. Calves tightening, fighting against the extra resistance between her and the tide. Then, the high wind. Turning her , ever longer,  gold strands into a scene at a fair where the vendor magically materializes cotton candy out of thin air. Comical really. This same wind surrounds every square inch of her skin, transporting her to a world all her own. While noise circulates all around, children playing, couples cooing hand in hand, friends giggling, gossiping and capturing the scene. In her world it all fades away. Silence, serenity. Finally she finds the moment where land meets emerald expanse. What a delight to share the same world as an infinite variety of beings who never breathe air. 

Crisp chills run up her spine. Wading to waist deep, she dances around while contemplating the risk versus reward of getting her hair wet. Before she can complete that internal debate, the choice is made for her as a wave washes over. Into the deep she goes.

Instants of piercing frozen needles all over. It is the beach in February after all. Though with the same speed the frigid discomfort found her, it dissipates, then fades away entirely. 

Here comes the hard part. How to capture the essence of being tossed about. Utterly out of control. Surrendering to each topple as waves suction her entirety towards the horizon, flip her, manipulate each limb, then land her back up right. The glorious sensation of letting go - not being in control - and still landing on pointed toes all the same, with a smile. Catching her breath for just one heartbeat, she wipes away salt stained tears of joy and releases back into what the next swell has in store. Micro moments of the ocean carrying her, not so delicately, on a new adventure with each crest. A full body experience, nearly impossible to replicate anywhere else.

But why does she brace for each impact knowing seconds later that letting go is where she can access that salty sweet spot? Again and again the cycle repeats. Tightening her frame less and less with each following surge, until the tides turn. The shift from mustering the strength only to let go, to diving head first into the next burst. Bellowing ocean body welcomes her home. The compression and safety below the surface contrasts with the wild ride the wave queues up. There is beauty here. 

Resurfacing for an audible gasp of air, accompanied by a cheery excited squeal of a laugh, then back under. The motion, so sporadic, cannot be reproduced and hardly articulated as she's taken to another realm entirely. Alive here. Bobbing in the ups and downs in this weightless utopia. Bliss.

Questioning if any of this truly translates, she writes on. Dreaming of this. A feeling she knows so intimately, craves, and can nearly teleport to by memory. 

In the water she was born to be.