Lately, I’ve been feeling the pull of the ocean, even though I haven’t set foot near the water.
No, the ocean I’m feeling is churning inside me, calling on me to make the changes I so desperately need to make.

But do I move to make the changes? No. I’m still standing, feet planted in the sand, even as the tide swirls around my bare ankles, shifting the sand around and under my feet, unbalancing me.
I catch myself as I start to fall, and as the tide rolls out, I right myself and brace for the next wave.

Why am I so scared to ride that wave of change? Why do I buck against it, standing rigid, absorbing each swell that soaks me to the bone, when it would be so much easier to let go and let the wave take me on a wild and joyous ride to shore?

I spent a summer on the Maryland coast. I remember body surfing from sunup until my dad called us for dinner, skin wrinkled like a raisin, teeth blue and chattering, heart pumping blood throughout my body so forcefully, I could hear the “whoosh-whoosh” in my ears. I remember the feeling of complete abandonment, the excitement of not knowing just where I would land. Oh, to relive those days again, even if only figuratively.

What am I waiting for?

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