wrestling the atlantic.

The Atlantic is an awesome force. It is so different than the Gulf, which tends to be more calmer waters. The Atlantic ebbs and flows, twists and turns, swells and crashes. Swimming in it is exhilarating. The waves are so powerful it tosses my body with ease; you realize how helpless we are against the forces of nature.

I see those waves and think, "I want to swim against the waves." I'm sure this is what most guys would think. We see a mountain, we want to climb it and reach the top. It is interesting, really. There is something about being a man. I don't know if it is that we want to "conquer" nature, or just absorb its power, being a part of it--maybe its both. Being able to fair against these forces gives me the feeling that I deserved to be a part of nature, that I had what it takes to earn my keep in this existence.

I went against the waves to test myself (as well as have fun). There is a mutual respect, between the Atlantic and I. I want it to teach me something about it and about myself. What am I capable of? Courage is either a divine gift or a beautiful flaw. And so for the past couple of days, it was me and the Atlantic.

Its waves would crash and push me back onto shore, not letting me enter the deep. But then as if to mock me, its undertow would pull me in again. So I plant my feet into the sand to find stability.

Crash.

I sway like a branch in the wind but I hold my ground. I fight the current and make steps forward.

Crash.

Swim. The current only will swipe me off my feet. I see the next swell. Dive into it.

Crash.

I dove under the palm of the wave and pull myself through the water and emerge behind it. I look back and I see the wave fade into the shore.

The next wave, bigger than the first comes for me. It comes.

Closer.

Swelling and roaring.

Closer.

I dive under it.

Crash.

Again I emerge behind it and see it fade into shore. The waves kept coming, but further and further I swam.