Ocean Birthed

Sitting on the sand with my knees drawn up tightly into my chest, my arms wrapped around my legs, I looked out on the horizon toward whatever may lay there, hidden. It could’ve been a ship or the sun, an idea or an island-it could’ve been a dream. Or maybe it was nothing at all.

I stared into oblivion, my thoughts scattered and windblown like the sand resting beneath my bare feet. I don’t know what I had been thinking of at the time; perhaps I was just contemplating life in general. Maybe I was imagining my future, imagining where I would be and where I would go, envisioning a life that was simple and easy, yet had enough work where I was satisfied and fulfilled.

I wish I knew what to think. My brain is always cast in a million different directions, never able to focus on one thing at a time, and circling around and around until I think I’ll collapse from the dizziness.

I graduate next year. Now usually a person wouldn’t be agonizing over their future in junior year and would wait until they graduate, but I worry about it now. I want to know where I am going, which paths to take and which to avoid, and I want to know how high or low I should aim. Regularly one would say to shoot for as high as you possibly can, but what happens if I shoot too high? I don’t want to be one of those people who have to live with what they have to settle for, to hate my job and my life, to hate my family. I don’t think I could bear the weight and strain or have the strength to put up that constant struggle.

The breeze picked up and tossed my hair in my face. Waves crashed harder and louder with gulls crying out to summon the light. I glanced up at the wide ivory wings illuminated against the inky black sky and allowed my thoughts to circle. So many bright stars against the dark, continuously lighting up the unknown. Of course, there are too many to count, too many to take note of, but the overall picture was appealing.

Is that what we are like? Tiny lights in a murky world just trying to find our way? Do we ever take note of the whole picture we make and how brilliant each and every one of us shines? Or do we remain insignificant to the world around us? Do our choices leave footprints in the sand and maybe guide others toward something great? Is there a ripple effect where a person’s one choice reflects one after another and impacts everyone? Does a lady who serves a man his coffee in the morning have as much impact as that man when he goes to work and invents something new? Because that woman crossed his path, does his idea echo off of that decision to have that type of coffee, or would the idea have happened without it? Do these small changes and shifts have power and influence, or are they worthless and too small for distinction?

The sun was starting to rise then, just a dim wink coming out to tease the outer edges of darkness, and still I did not move. For I was so caught up in my thoughts that my surroundings didn’t even register. It was like my eyes became temporarily blinded, like a cloud had decided to settle overtop my vision, obscuring it from whatever might’ve happened in that moment. This happens so often that the feeling hardly even registers, and I am able to spend hours in a zone of trance and fascination.

It was a few minutes, at least in my remembrance, until the dawn registered, and I stood up to walk to my car. I brushed the sand from my legs and hopped into the seat of my Jeep, starting it and putting my seatbelt on in one practiced move.

I often have these bouts of insomnia, my thoughts keeping me awake at night so all I do is think, and that night, to say the least, was one of the ones I recall best. For even on the drive home my mind was occupied on the subject of fate. I wondered if my future and what I would accomplish was all tidily planned out, and if so, why I couldn’t know what it was. I questioned my importance and if fate determined that, too. Was every little move I did, from cracking my knuckles to getting married, already formulated like a freaking blueprint? Were my actions meticulously outlined and plotted like documentations in a professional’s organizer? Did I really have no choice at all?

I pulled up in my driveway, and slowly hopped out of the car. I ambled toward the front door and yanked it open, letting myself in. I strolled into my bedroom, tugging off my jeans and sweatshirt in exchange for sweats and an old soccer shirt. Turning off the light, I tumbled into bed and drew the blankets up to my chin and attempted to fall asleep. The tossing and turning only lasted a few minutes before I gave up, reluctantly opened my eyes, and stared at the ceiling.

I needed to know that I had a choice. Not having a say in what I did didn’t make sense, and I didn't care for feeling as if my opportunities had been ripped away from me. I needed to know that no matter how insignificant and unimportant I may be, those things I’d done had been done on my own accord and not forced by some upper being. I needed to know that I was my own person, that I could choose which direction I went even it ended up being the wrong way.

This is the worst part about life. There are aspects of it that you cannot change no matter how hard you wish it otherwise. There are things that you won’t ever be able to find out, things that there will be no answer for. There are times when I will want to scream and throw things and to freak out on everyone around me. This won’t ever change, but it’s all in how you handle it and what you do with it that matters. It’s not about laying the blame on someone else’s shoulders, but about toughing through the battles on your own.

And still, even as I laid in bed and stared unseeing at the ceiling, I wished for the knowledge of my future and wondered if my ripples had, in fact, started a wave. I wanted the intelligence, the awareness, of what was to come and what was to be.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I drifted off to sleep. My eyelids drooped and my breathing evened out into a steady in-and-out rhythm.

I fell into the inky blackness, and I dreamt of my destiny.