Look Me in the Eye When You Write about Me

How quickly do we take things for granted?  How many years, days, hours before the initial wow fades?  Believe it or not, this isn’t a breakup blog post as Carrie Bradshaw would have you believe.  It’s an honest ponder.  I just wrote about my illicit love affair with the ocean.  Just.  Wrote.  It.  Only to realize the other day while sitting on the beach that I haven’t actually visited her since I’ve been back from South Africa.  Three weeks ago.  I liken it to the grandma you adore, but rarely make it to the old age home to see.

Being with her, the South China Sea, in her early March gray-brown grumpiness, reminded me – so much more vividly than blogging about her – what she is.  What this place is.  I’m living one foot out the door at the moment; preoccupied with Green Card applications and looking for a new job for next year.  A sizable piece of my mental real estate is consumed by next-step planning squatters.

The ocean was having none of it.  Like the grandma who calls you out for not really listening to her story, the ocean now demands that I take note; be here.  Be in the now.  Planning ahead has its place.  So does being in the moment.  This is the ocean’s gift to – and demand of – us.

Waves aren’t actually moving water; just moving energy.  I’m hoping that makes me profound and somehow relates to the thesis here.

Oh, whatever.  The ocean says to stop overthinking it, Longfellow Big Foot.  Put down your notebook and look me in the eye when you write about me.

Alright I will.  Cyberspace loses to the command of the real, live, energetic ocean.