50 Days of Ocean Dips, Part 2— Every Day is Different, Some Things Stay the Same
Note: It might be helpful to start by reading Part 1: ”Intentional Living, Remembering & Ritual”
I wrote recently about my many motivations for committing to daily ocean dips, and I ended with this: It seems to me that another lovely facet of ritual is that we keep certain things the same— I put on my swimsuit, I walk to the ocean, I pick up a rock, I slowly immerse myself, etc. The repetition and the sameness serve to emphasize difference—changes in my mood, in the moods of the ocean and sky, the uniqueness of each day’s experience.
So now I’d like to share my reflections on the many kinds of experiences that I’ve had, all in the same patch of seashore.
Every Day is Different, Every Day is Important
Experiencing Delight
Some days in the ocean are pure joy and gratitude. The sun shines warm and bright, the shore is mostly empty and quiet, the water is a bit warmer so that it feels easy to get in. The clear turquoise water and the wide open view of the bay feel spacious and heart-lifting. The waves are perfect: enough movement to be exciting, and yet not at all scary. These are days of pure delight, filling me with joy that lasts long afterward.
Photo from Lisa Amorao
Being with Discomfort
Some days are about being with fear and discomfort. Days of wind, when gray skies and choppy water make it feel nuts to be doing anything at the beach other than staying onshore in a hoodie and a hat.
Days when the water is murky and stirred up, awash with pieces of seaweed that startle me as they suddenly brush creepily against my arms and legs.
Days when, before getting in the water, I think “Oh, the waves are pretty chill today,” but then when I get it, all of a sudden a set arrives with each wave bigger than the last, and I find myself jumping as high as I can, just barely clearing my chin over the crest… and feeling scared the whole time, a pit in my stomach as I anticipate the wave that will be too big for me, the one that will crash on me. (Worth noting: This has never actually happened.)
There’s a sense of being right at the edge: How much discomfort is okay with me? What does it mean to be out of my comfort zone… and what does it mean to be unsafe? When should I quit trying to be courageous and just get out of there? In other words, there are days when I’m not necessarily having a lot of fun. ;)
Reveling in Connection
There are days that are all about connection. Every inch of my body is in contact with the water, and I move and dance in its flow, I’m pushed and pulled. My favorite is when I can body surf. I wait until just the right moment when the wave comes, I leap in the same direction as the wave, and feel myself carried with a WOOOSH, rushing toward the shore. Then I leap back into deeper water to catch the next one.
Days when I’m surrounded by birds: A squadron of huge pelicans cruising low over the water. Caspian terns diving for fish and calling out raucously. More recently, tawny groups of willets and whimbrels turning in unison, sometimes flying just inches from my face. The solitary osprey soaring high overhead. Here we are together.
A harbor seal (I'm pretty sure it's always the same one) sometimes pops up nearby and looks at me for a few seconds before disappearing under the water, surfacing again in another spot a minute later. It seems to me, as we look into each other’s eyes, that this seal and I feel the same way about each other. We’re both full of curiosity, combined with enough shyness not to try to get too close. There’s an edge here, a frisson as I’m reminded of other beings who are share the water with me.
Living in a Body
There are days of body awareness, most days, actually. I look forward to the soft warmth of the sand on my feet. I feel the weight and irregularity of a rock in my hand. The first minutes of gradually getting in, I have no choice but to feel intensely each square inch of water touching my skin, a progressive chill like an electric shock. Later, getting out of the water, a strange and intense warmth within.
There is joy in being in a body that can move freely and sense so intensely. And sometimes there's also challenge in being in a body, a body that can be seen. That's another reason why this practice has been good for me, as a woman in a body that I wish to love: every day I put on a bathing suit, submerge in the water even when no one else is doing that, and just do what I wish to do with my body.
Staying Committed
And there are days that are totally about commitment. When I've left it too late in the day, and I’m already tired, when the fog is coming in and the wind has kicked up. Days when the water temperature has dropped a few very noticeable degrees from chilly to bone-achingly cold. On those days I realize I am doing this not because it’s always enjoyable but because I am doing this, because I have told myself that this is what I do and gosh darn it, I am doing it, okay?! Commitment.
Some Things Stay the Same
There has never been a time when I got out and wished that I hadn't gotten in. There is always a special blend of peace and energy afterwards. There’s a sense of my inner toughness and grit, pride in myself for doing something that isn’t always easy, but that stirs my soul. There is absolutely always a sense of being uniquely me and completely alive.
I want to return to what I wrote at the beginning of Part 1. I felt that I wasn’t consistently making choices that supported how I want to live, so to get me moving in the right direction, I chose this keystone habit: A daily dip in the ocean.
The keystone habit has worked. I’m finding that intentionality and commitment are contagious – they can't be corralled, and that's a good thing. As my unbroken string of ocean dips has lengthened, so have other strings of daily habits. I’m taking better care of my body, eating and drinking more consciously, reading books, being with other types of discomfort and facing my edges.
Ask me how many more days I'll be doing this and I have no idea.* There will be some day in the future, I'm sure, when I’m sick or traveling, or when what I need is something different. I am learning to be steady, and yet fluid like water! Already, I have gotten what I came for. Tomorrow, I’ll be going back for more.