Wading Through the Waters of Life

 I feel the damp fiberglass against my legs and the metal in my hands. Salt coats my tastebuds, and I am noseblind to the marshy odor; what I see gives me a sense of peace that is unmatched by anything else. The Chesapeake Bay is my oasis, and my paddleboard keeps me afloat. 

As I wade through the water, I see my life laid out before me. My eyes land on a duckling and its parent. For my own pleasure, I assume the baby is a girl, and the parent is her dad. To see this makes me feel less alone in having grown up as an only-child with a single-dad. I admire them for a while before I stand up and continue around the bend, a Snowy Egret stands on an oyster bed alone. These creatures prefer to be social, but for some reason this one is solitary. I decide to share my name with it and hope it finds a mate this season. 

My legs are hurting now. They are shaky and unstable. I sit back down, not wanting to fall in. One day, my legs will be eroded just like the Bay's shoreline. I decide to take a break; my feet feel the solid land and the sand sticks to my soles. I sit down near the cordgrass and survey my surroundings. There are no people or wildlife, but cigarette buds, clear bottle caps, and pieces of food wrappers litter the shore like the prescriptions that litter my dresser. When I look past the shore, a machine is sucking the sand and sediment from the benthic. I can't help but think if this ecosystem were human, this would be her equivalent to getting blood drawn. I hope the test results come back with a way to make things better. When I listen closely the chirp of cicadas meets my ears. It's rhythmic and consistent, and I can't help but recognize its resemblance to the beeping that accompanies me in the Emergency Room. To drown the noise out, I turn on my waterproof speaker and put Noah Kahan on shuffle. 

I pull my board back out deep enough that the fin won't get caught in the sand. After I get back on, I start paddling in the direction I came from. After five minutes, my shoulders and elbows feel as if there are weights tied to my wrists. I set my paddle down next to me, lay my back against the board, and cold seeps through my clothes. I hear the lyrics, “Pain's like cold water, your brain just gets used to it”. These lyrics make me feel seen, and I wonder if the crabs below me would relate.  For the first time today, I look up and a cloud sticks out to me. Silver surrounds its edges and once again I am in awe of Mother Nature's beauty. I realize that this whole time, I have been so focused on the things that have happened to me in the past that I have entirely neglected my present.