The Bitter End! (with sharks)
It takes one small lapse of concentration, and all hell can break loose.
I love to surf. I also love the ocean but surfing - it’s one of those things that is part of my very being. Catching the perfect wave is almost indescribable. It is like being part of the wave, at one with the universe. It is as mesmerising as it is fleeting and surfers are forever chasing that moment. Time stops, everyone is as one, it is captivating, invigorating and all powerful. I hear a lot of people say surfing is frightening, it defies gravity and logic, and the sharks. OMG the sharks.
The truth is, we should all be a little scared of the ocean because it is monumental and out of our control. In a world where we seek control over everything (as well as each other), the ocean holds its own domain. It’s not just the sheer magnitude it is the layer and depths that we can’t fathom, nevermind understand. I have always had this intrinsic belief that my end will have me returning to the ocean (a romantic notion that I came from the ocean?) It doesn’t scare me. It could simply be that my ashes are spread across one of my beloved beaches (as per my request). I love the ocean so much that I am absolutely sure that is where I want to spend eternity, but I was hoping for eternity to hold off for a while longer.
So when I went for a leisurely swim and I lost myself in the blissful, calm, pristine waters I was shocked to find myself suddenly in the midst of a very strong rip. I chastised myself, years of nippers with my kids, so many warnings to them as I taught them to surf, yet here I was, not paying attention and caught being dragged out at a rapid rate. My initial instinct was primal, fight, unleash, push back – go down fighting. That is a normal human instinct but the thing with rips is, they are the force of the ocean – any fight is futile. They are more powerful that we can even imagine. Fighting, facing them head on will only deplete my energy and end in a quick demise.
My natural instinct in life is to go for the jugular. If I’m attacked I attack. I have fought hard for everything I have. I have stood tall in my power and I have survived numerous attacks. I know my strength. I’m proud of my strength, my resolve, my tenacity. They are hallmarks of who I am and while not everyone admires those traits. I do. I own who I am and as I get older I am more proud of my inner strength. Of what I have overcome. In this moment though, all I could think was – you’re a dickhead Donna. You know so much better and you let your guard down. It is all going to end here and because you were stupid. I have never underestimated the magnitude of the ocean. My respect is genuine – I understand her force and depth and now I was going to become part of the waves. I briefly wondered how the end would be, what I would feel. My thoughts mostly went to loved ones though, my children, my husband, my puppy, my sister, my Mum, my close friends and then my beloved Nanny. I wondered if I was about to be united with her. What form would she be in? I felt sadness at missing the next chapters of my children’s lives, for not getting to experience the next stage of my great love, for never getting another Pipey cuddle and lick, for not hearing the warm tones of my sister’s lyrical like kind voice, but I felt deep gratitude for the life I’d been given and the life I’ve lived.
I struggled for breath, already feeling my energy slowly draining and I wondered how death by drowning would feel. I was clinical, matter of fact. I saw the shoreline fading into the distance. My beach was unpatrolled. I had ventured down alone so there was no one on the shore looking for me. The few people around were now dots in the distance and oblivious to my existence. I wondered how my family would find out. Would they find my towel on the beach. My car in the carpark? They wouldn’t believe this. I’m known as a super strong swimmer. My board is in the car – looking at the waves with disapproval. The ocean was too calm to surf today so where did this rip come from?
Is it a payback for my recent angst? I have been battling the status quo lately. My innate resentment at inequities has been on high alert and I have been fighting back. Not taking any prisoners – is this my punishment? Upsetting too many people so nature has taken control? Now I’m sounding as ego-centric as the idiots I’ve been calling out. Of course that’s not what is happening. I took my eye off the ball. I swam right into a rip and now I need to decide what to do next.
Every part of my logical being told me to follow the advice. Float. Don’t fight it. Go with the force. Any fight will end in your sure death. Go with the rip. If fortune favours you it will take you back to shore, at the very least floating and not fighting will give you the opportunity to catch your breath for the moment when an opening appears and you can swim out of the rip – not against it – but to the side, slipping out of its clutches. The thing is, I don’t do anything like that. I take challenges, conflict and life head on. It’s my natural instinct. It’s how I’ve survived and at times thrived. It is the very essence of who I am. Yet this time – if I did that – I would die.
I decided I wasn’t done. I wanted more of this life. More of my journey. I didn’t want to end just now. I told the ocean I knew I belonged to her and I would return but for now I wanted more time with the life I didn’t always love, but was always grateful for. For the people who I existed for and with, for the life I hadn’t finished living. I forced myself to fight not the rip but my natural instinct. I floated – at first rigidly – I hate surrendering. I was floating but poised for fight. Fists clenched – ready to punch futilely. Then a slow feeling of calm washed over me and my body relaxed into the water, I became one with the water and I felt her strength and magnificence. I closed my eyes and saw my life in reels. Agony, Ecstasy and everything in between, I saw my beloved Nan and my dear friend Rach who died by her own hand, I saw my youngest daughter and her little triumphs and cheeky smile, I saw my glorious older daughter and her warm countenance, and I saw my son and his rebellious eyes. Then my husband in all his cheekiness – I saw my close friends and our giggles and fun and I saw quiet moments of reflection. When I opened my eyes all I could see was ocean – land had disappeared and still I was being carried out like a babe in arms. There was nothing I could do. I had no control except over how I was responding, so I relaxed into the driving force that carried me beyond humanity.
I should have been scared, terrified, but at this time, when all seemed lost I had a deep feeling of calm. I was sure in the knowledge that I had no power against this magnificent force and I surrendered to it. It was innate and real. Just as I arrived in that moment all else changed. I felt multiple pulls, swirls – I briefly wondered if a shark had entered the equation (dying at the teeth of a shark was not part of the agreement) but no, I had somehow moved to the edge of the rip and could now swim with it, briefly at first. I started to swim with the pull and then as it pushed back I floated. This seemed to last for an eternity but eventually I could see shore. Not the shore I had left but shore. I estimated I was just under a km out, so I knew I had some work to do but following the swim push, float pull rule I edged closer to the shore, ever so slowly. The sun was now high above me so I estimated my 7am swim had now hit at least five maybe six hours in duration and the shoreline I was approaching did not resemble the beach where I started from. While it took hours, it seemed like all of the sudden I had edged out of the rip and my tired hands and legs could now have some effect. I moved slowly but with progress to the shore. As I stumbled out of the water, people on the beach looked at me curiously. Where had I come from? I couldn’t speak nor could I process. I had no idea where I was. I think I was even doubting what dimension I was in.
Some kind people wrapped me in a towel. I never asked how they knew I wasn’t just a swimmer coming back from a long swim, but somehow they knew something had happened. Before I knew it I was being hydrated, hugged and berated.
The rip had dragged me 7km and I had reached shore on a beach that was 12km away. I had been in the ocean for six hours. I only survived because I surrendered. Being a strong swimmer helped but it isn’t what saved me. Surrendering. Picking my time to fight and my time to flow was what saved me. If that isn’t a metaphor for life I don’t know what is.
I give thanks to those that helped me on this momentous day. You’ll always hold a piece of my heart. With deep gratitude. Namaste!
