Buoyancy

The heat from the sun spawned a state of much needed restoration as I lay outstretched with my arms extending above my head and my toes pointed. I eased into the slack of the beach chair, my right leg straightening past the point of comfort. An array of knee surgeries had me overly aware of its position at all times, the painful memories a momentary recall away. I readjusted my leg to allow for a slight bend, releasing the tension, when I realized my hands were unrelently gripping the edge of the chair. The former trauma that played in my head had caused a physical reaction. The possibility of the recurrence had caused my body to subconsciously search for something stable, safe, and known.

I quickly reminded myself I was on solid ground, the waves a mile away. Diligent about dedicating the necessary time to heal, I had worked through the injury to strengthen my leg, so why was I still afraid? Releasing my grip, I decided to push myself like I’d done so many times before to prove that I no longer needed to hold onto that fear. I could see a sign for catamaran rides a ways down the beach by the waters edge. Leaving the chair behind, I didn’t recognize my own feet in the sand, as they took one step after another toward the ocean. 

I walked directly up to the tour stand and exchanged greetings along with some money as they helped me into a life jacket and then up on a towable banana boat, set to head out towards the catamaran’s location. As I adjusted my position on the left side of the floating vessel, the driver of the motor boat it was attached to asked me my opinion of face masks, referring to a nearby couple sporting them as they walked past on the beach. He related the notion to covering the ocean with a net. To avoid potential conflict, I gave him a neutral response, telling him that was an interesting metaphor as I gripped the handle in front of me, noticing that the boat was now full. The driver took notice, too, getting the thumbs up from his coworker as he took off, quickly gaining speed. 

The vast ocean ahead enticed me as glimpses of colorful houses dotting the shore blended together. I felt the unexpected thrill of the ride, a smile plastered across my face. As the rest of the passengers held on alongside me, their grips seemed lighter compared to my now white knuckles, my innate need for solid ground resurfacing. I pondered his question as my knee pinched, the straddle position not the best for it. My thoughts instantly deviated to the fragility of it, of how I never fully trusted its strength even after surgeons restored it. The pain I had gone through was too intense to put myself in a place to potentially experience it again. Suddenly the waves grew choppier, higher. My right leg began to slide, causing me to lose traction and almost fly off the back. A gasp escaped from my lungs as I tried to balance, leaving my body shaking in fear. Why had I put myself in this situation? That’s right, it was to prove to myself that I could do big things, that I could do the things that scare me, yet I felt like I was failing. 

It occurred to me as I repeatedly attempted to readjust in the aftershock of each passing wave that this affected more than just my physical makeup. Unlike the small “boat” I was sitting on, I hadn’t been the best at practicing buoyancy in my life. Wave after wave had come and gone, but for some reason, I still hadn’t learned how to stay afloat. My strategies for bouncing back were centered around protection; not just with potential injuries, but with my thoughts and opinions, too. I kept them safe, preventing any possible source of rejection, conflict, or pain from inhibiting my joy, yet it caused me to feel more muted than carefree. I had operated this way for so long that sharing anything about myself, even minimal, propelled forth a feeling of exposure. 

I blinked a few times, forgetting where I was, before I realized that I had been clinging to the boat, the beach chair, the solid ground, as if it were a life raft, treating each like a lifeline I desperately needed in an imaginary emergency. Rather than experiencing the recreational, widespread beauty I was meant for, I had clung to the false sense of security of evasion and repressed self-importance. I looked ahead, the catamaran now in view, readjusting once more to a comfortable position that reflected the other passengers’ as we slowed. The engine idled as we were helped off the banana boat. No longer wanting to be afraid of what will or, more so, what could happen, when it was my turn to get off, I spoke up, relaying my previously held thoughts to the driver whose hand was extended. Testing my buoyancy, I talked about how I view masks as an act of consideration and compassion; how they convey love even without the pleasantry of a smile. He briefly grinned at me, expressed his differing opinion in between gusts of wind and waves, yet acknowledged the beauty of mine. 

Through an exchange of helping hands and trusting jumps, I was now on the catamaran, yet felt comforted by the unsteady nature of the banana boat previously beneath me, knowing now that I could release my tight grip, shattering the metaphorical protective capsule within which I had been living my life. The simple, yet bold, expression of trust in both my body and my now voiced thoughts mattered more than where I initially planned to go. I was headed for the safety of the bigger boat, what I thought was the end goal, but the banana boat, while feeling much less sturdy, more than sufficed.