24x30 Acrylic/ Canvas/ Resin
Sometimes the ocean is playful. Light and brilliant aqua in the distance from the boardwalk. Beautiful young people play volleyball, everyone surfs, hipsters skate, and kids eat ice cream in a pink bayside park. A roller coaster rumbles in the distance. Palm trees are sky-high, and the air smells like salt, sunscreen, weed, and sometimes cotton candy. When I skate the boardwalk it’s like flying through a dream. Getting into the water has been different lately.
I swam too far out into the ocean last week, trying to get to a sea cave in the distance. The tide was powerful, immersive, and frustrating. I was so focused on trying to get to where I thought I wanted to go, I didn’t realize how far out I had swam. I’ll say that again. I was so focused on trying to get to where I thought I wanted to go, I didn’t realize how far I’d already come.
I turned around, exhausted. The beach I came from was a line the size of a fingernail in the distance. My body was so tired. My mind raced, calculating if I had the strength or energy to get that far back to shore. Panic began to build up. There was no way I’d be able to make it back.
Water makes emotions heavier in the body, at least for me. That feeling coupled with floating at the same time has always been comforting to me. Like a reminder that many opposites can be possible at the same time. The panic was heavy and slow, but I had fins and a wetsuit on so I wasn’t sinking. Regardless.
“You’ll never make it back that far” kept playing on a loop in my head. I was angry at myself for going out that far, scared, and overwhelmed. I thought to myself “Change your thoughts.”
I imagined the sensation of skating fast down the boardwalk, the childlike fun and movement all around me. I learned how to skate shortly after I learned to walk. It was my favorite thing on earth growing up.
In the ocean, my body relaxes. Suddenly clear of all thoughts, I laugh at myself. Maybe I was feeling everything I was feeling so that it could come up to the surface and shift. Intuitively I know that the reason for going far out into the ocean is so that it can clear my energy and patterns.
Or maybe I need to just pay more attention to where I am instead of where I’m trying to be.
I put my head down and began swimming back to the shore, being careful not to look too far ahead. For me, looking too far ahead makes me lose sight completely. I’m sensitive, I get overwhelmed, and so convinced I’ll fail that I give up, long before I put a lot of work in.
Except I couldn’t just give up this far out into the water.
When I’m occupied with fear, I can’t see all of the colors and variations of life, joy, and alignment that are right here with me, now. Fear has the power to take away everything if I let it. It has the power to turn living out every aspect of life I’ve ever dreamed of into a problem.
I made it back to shore. Laughing at myself because while I like to imagine I’m a graceful mermaid floating along in sparkly water - most of the time I’m barely treading water, hoping I don’t drown, and turning it into art later.
This painting is a portrait of so many aspects of life and joy, fear and courage, calm and panic being possible at the same time. We can’t have every color without contrast. If I don’t stop and look around at where I am - not where I was or where I’m going - I might miss it.
