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My intention when I started this blog wasn’t merely to recap
all of my catastrophic and near-catastrophic run-ins with nature. My actual point
was to give myself an outlet where I could write honestly about life and the
experiences which shape us and make us who we are. Nuts to that though, I almost
died on Friday and guess whose fault it was? That’s right. Nature. Allow me to
explain.
A little
over a year ago, I wrote about my
complex relationship with the sea. The long and the short of it is that I used
to love the ocean and then I got really weird and awkward as a teenager and decided
that I hated the ocean. Once I put the teenage thing behind me, (never managed to
shake that weird and awkward thing though, what a bummer) I warmed back up to
the sea and we’ve been pals ever since.
As we
discussed in my blog about my harrowing
run-in with a horseshoe crab, my family and I were down the shore last
week. All week long, I frolicked in the sea. I went in a least twice a day,
sometimes going out so far that my feet were nowhere, and I mean nowhere, near
the bottom. I learned this by thrusting myself in an upward manner and then
submerging myself rapidly. Often times it took quite a while before my feet
touched. So yeah, I was out there. Not so far out as to draw the ire of the
lifeguards because I am no rebel. I’m a line-toer if there ever was one.
