Things I Learned From the Sea

I’m back after a fantastic week in Antigua–still severely jet lagged, still digging out from under a mountain of laundry, but back nevertheless. So, while I’m still settling into the regular routine of my life, I figured I’d take a moment to reveal some of the things I learned from staring at the Caribbean Sea for the last eight days.

We are specks of dust. 70% of the earth’s surface is covered in water.  You knew that, right? But think of it this way: 30% of the earth’s surface is covered with land, which is where people live. Not all of that land is habitable, of course. 30% of the earth’s surface is heavily forested, and another 10% is covered in glaciers. Put all those numbers together and what you realize is that human beings and our many problems are a very, very small piece of the picture. That’s a good thing to keep in mind at all times.

Don’t like something? Give it a minute or two. If you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time, you know I’m a big believer in identifying the specific challenges we face and coming up with plans for addressing them, rather than hoping those challenges will disappear. But I learned a little something about this from the Caribbean Sea: things change in big ways from one minute to the next. That darkish patch of ocean that looks like a deep, dangerous hole might actually be a flat rock just beneath the surface of the turquoise water, the perfect place for gaining a foothold if you need a moment’s break from swimming. What you see all around you depends on the light, the time of day, and the angle from which you’re viewing your situation. Rather than rushing to fix a problem, there’s something to be said for just taking a few extra minutes to assess. What those minutes reveal might make a huge difference in the way you proceed.

Nothing is as simple as you think it is. If I asked you “What color is the ocean?”, I’m guessing you’d say blue. Maybe green, depending on which ocean you had in mind. If I asked you, very specifically, “What color is the Caribbean Sea?”, you might say turquoise (based on the fact that I just used that word in the previous paragraph, and on the photo at the top of this page.) And it is, in fact, turquoise. But it’s also cerulean and azure and indigo and a color I can hardly describe, sort of a glassy sapphire. And it’s all these things at once. I’m never again going to be able to say what color the ocean is. If I were even to venture a guess, I’d have to ask a lot of questions first. That’s probably a good strategy to employ as a general rule.

“Roll tide” is a motto, not just a rallying cry. If you, like me, have friends who support the Alabama Crimson Tide, then you’ve heard them cry out their support for their team. But I was reminded this past week that the real tide never stops rolling–not for one minute. Sometimes the sea is calm, and sometimes the waves are crashing hard against the shore, but the tide rolls in and out no matter what else happens. When I find myself in one of those moments where I’m getting hung up on small snags–which happens a lot, when you’re traveling–I’ve taken to pulling in a deep breath and thinking Roll, tide  as I exhale. It’s a calmer version of the familiar refrain, but it does the job. It reminds me that this moment will surely pass, as all moments do.