on the water

July 7, 2018

I have always felt my most at home on the water. It's there I feel my most vulnerable, my most exposed, most honest and most care-free. 

 

There is something about the water that is so alluring, that brings me back down, reminds me that I am oh-so-small and that there is a greater power constantly working around me. I love the way the water breathes; 

 

up and down 

 

up and down,

 

softly raising and dropping shells, ships, and me. Other times, its force is catastrophic, tearing up homes, ruining lives. Others, it builds, winding through canyons, creek beds, tiny crevices in caves to create stalactites and vibrant oases. It can be so pure and still, lapping against a shore, drawing you in. In others, it is terrifying. 

 

In the last year I have felt so open and yet so closed. I've accepted many new challenges, tried to learn and grow as much as humanly possible, constantly toeing the line between the impossible and the not yet. And yet... 

 

I still sometimes feel like I'm not doing enough, like I haven't gotten as far as I've wanted or reached the goals I have in my head. So much can happen in a year, and yet so little. And I wonder if I have worked so hard achieving tangible goals instead of more abstract ones. 


Am I kind? Am I gentle? Am I patient? 

 

Because I want to be those things, yet sometimes I definitely fall short. Am I even qualified or prepared or able to be those things? Can Sydney be kind all the time? Can she be gentle regardless? Can she be infinitely patient? 

 

I sure hope so, but sometimes...

 

When in Mexico, I crawled the shore one night, hunting for a perfect conch. I didn't find one - but I did notice that the sand isn't so much gritty dirt as it is a conglomeration of tiny, beautiful and broken shells. I was a bit surprised and slightly weepy (I'm telling you, the things the water does to me) because it was so beautiful and so unexpected... 

 

I don't mean for everything to be a lesson, and I don't mean to reach for meaning in things that are just that: things. But I would be remiss to not have thought: "whoa. This whole frickin thing is the most wild process." 

 

I'm sure I sound like the most annoying broken record, but life is a process. "Becoming" is a process. Being more patient, kind, intelligent, gracious, gentle, beautiful; it all takes time. 

 

Like waves beating on the shore: over and over and over again. I'll get there. You'll get there. We'll get there; maybe a bit beaten, maybe a bit broken, but we will arrive. We will be beautiful. We will be noticed.

 

Cheers to the water. 

 

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i'm sydney.

 hello and welcome! 

This is my blog; a space for essays and stories that matter and ones that might not.

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