Under the Waves

The waves keep hitting me. One after another they pound into me, lifting my feet off the sand and flooding my mouth with salt water.

Suddenly, I have a vague sense that my surfboard is shooting upwards into the air and I’m somersaulting below the surface. For a moment, everything is quiet. I let my body go limp as I tumble underwater—I know not to fight. I know it will pass. When it finally does, I push upwards, gasping as I break the surface. I grab my board and hurl myself onto it before another wave hits. As I struggle to paddle forward, I watch the next wave rise up, arching its crest as if reaching for something invisible but then collapsing onto itself. Seconds later, when an avalanche of swirling white water surges over me, I fight to keep paddling forward. Even as the sea waterfalls down my face and I can’t see a damn thing. Blinded, my muscles tighten, not knowing if another wave is about to cascade over me and fling me back into the sea. I throw all my strength into my strokes until my board is actually gliding forward.

Finally, I’m beyond the break. I blink as I watch the waves crash where I had just been. And in that moment, I realize that this is what 2020 has felt like: trying to move forward when you can’t see what’s ahead, not knowing if you’re going to get knocked over, losing control and learning both when not to fight it and when to fight with all your strength.