There is only one way to see the Pacific Ocean, and that is to see it yourself. There are photographs, paintings, poems and songs, but even noble efforts fall short. The imagination can stretch its Sunday morning limbs and strain with sleepy eyes, but the brain could never calculate the Pacific Ocean’s magnitude, the nose could never discern the thousand salty blues, the ears could never create the deep hum that comes from churning water brought up from the ocean floor.
The chameleon scales of the sea surface continuously dance. One thousand moods in a second. A look into the water reveals only you and the sky looking back. Every emotion, memory, and wish are liquid locked in those waves. One day, when you finally reach the West Coast yourself, you’ll hear it, and then you will see it, and then you will understand. It’ll bring you to your knees, turn your breath to salt and rip it from your lungs. You’ll be gasping.
The Pacific Ocean is wild on the largest and smallest of scales. And then there is you. Somewhere in the middle, torn in every direction, shrunken down to sea polished sand and stretched to horizon-bending heights. A morphic mix of melancholy bliss, twisting your spine and bending you over backwards. All of history is before you and the future is just out of reach. Time rolls towards the shore in waves. Crash.
As I have changed, so has the Pacific. I see my reflection in the waves and in the tide pools. The shades of blues, the purple permeations, the tickles of green, the fire of orange-red, they grey and the black.
Concrete pillars remind us that human beings will never leave anything alone. They jut out of the salt water like nails you pray you’ll never step on. Vertical cliffs are God’s golden staircase. The cracks weave up and down like wrinkled skin. We are all so young.
Time ticks with waves broken, and like Santa Cruz kelp I continue to branch and grow. I bend with the waves and understand that they can break me. My roots run deep into the icy water. I’m forever locked into the sea. Between the years 18 and 22, I have changed more rapidly than in any period prior. My health, my thoughts, my ideas have evolved with the seasons. Throughout these years of growth, the Pacific Ocean remains a place full of both familiarity and contemplation. As I change, so does the coastline. Forever morphing to match my internal dialogue, an extension of myself, wrapping world-wide.
This is a story about my own faces, traversing the California coastline. It is a story about the summer sun, wetsuit sweat. It is a story about fog you can smell when you’re half asleep in your tent. It is about tears and ocean spray and raindrops mixing in your mouth. It’s about loneliness and seals that won’t leave you alone. It’s about lust. It is a story about adventure. It’s a story about being lost. It’s a story about wanting to swim home. It’s a story about being stuck and free all at once.
I don’t need a sea-shell to hear the Pacific Ocean call. I can hear it in my sleep. It itches in my ear to remind me when it’s been too long; like an alarm clock. Wake up. I continue to change and so do the cliffs and so does the sand and so do the waves. We change together, slowly and all at once. Feet buried in the sand, knee deep in ice water, I am a part of something and I can see it. Where do I start and where does the ocean stop? Energy waves ripples appear on the horizon like blood pumped by the beating sun. Moon sets on black nights, seasons change with northern winds, and I’m new once again.
There is nothing inviting about the water, unless you like to feel absolutely alone. In that case, jump in. Let the waves prick your skin like doctor’s needles and let the current drag you down like anxious Sunday nights.
I’m dangling my toes off of Davenport cliffs. The sky is every grey imaginable, clouds in turmoil as far as I can see. The ocean is no better. Destruction plays in the waves and I can hear it laughing with the wind. I can fall, and it will catch me. My hands grip the ice plants surrounding me as if to squeeze the greens and purples into my pores.
People think that they love the ocean, but they don’t really know it. They see it on clear days in warm summers, when the wind disappears for months on end. But that’s not who the ocean really is. The ocean is sick. It’s churning and it’s nauseous. If you knew me, you would never love me. I’m shallow and I’m grey and when you turn your back I’ll suck you in with me. Drowning together is not love.
I watch a thousand lives begin and end. Ripples turn to bumps turn to waves. They hit the shore and they are gone. The waves live fast and disappear in an instant. Not a single one is memorable. They blur together like faces in a supermarket, indistinguishable but familiar. I feel meaningless and replaceable. There is always someone new on the horizon. It is just a matter of time until I am forgotten. All moves in waves and all energy comes back to the earth.
Rocks hold strong at the water’s edge. They are smoothed and deformed by the relentless power of the destructive sea. No one chooses to be put in that position. They were simply there when hell broke loose. Permanently changed by depressive habits. There is nothing for them to do but wait out the storm.
I’m alone on those cliffs and I can’t believe how much the ocean has changed since I left home. It is both empty and full at the same time, void of color but full of rage and confusion. I don’t recognize the Pacific Ocean anymore. I’m embarrassed to show it to my friends. If I had the choice I would hide the whole thing under a blanket all day long. I wouldn’t let it answer the phone or respond to any emails. I would force it to eat dinner alone. I would teach it how to lie to everybody.
By now I’m crying so I try to stand up to walk to my car. One foot slips and for a second I think that I may finally join that grey water once and for all. But I do not fall. I simply get up and walk. I can hear the wind louder than ever. Screaming in my ears, pulling at my hair. I start to run. Fuck, it is so loud. I’m running faster and faster and finally get to my car. I jump in and slam the door. It’s quiet. I turn on the heat and drive back to campus in silence.
From atop these cliffs you make a face like someone wronged you, someone close.
But in reality, it’s just the salt and the cold.
There is sand in my toes and salt building on the back of my neck, seaweed on the beach is as tangled as my long hair. The mid-morning sun paired with the slight onshore winds leaves me with a building feeling of anticipation. I sit down and the beach conforms to my bony butt. It has been a long time since I last visited Santa Cruz. Like pulling out a holy cross from the bottom of a dorm drawer, it feels good to find something you forgot you lost. The culmination of a few sleepless nights inspired this day’s retreat. My mind racing, pot wasn’t quite doing the trick.
This tide is high, the waves choppy and messy. The ocean is as unorganized as my thoughts. Although the days are getting longer, time seems to be moving faster. I am so close to being healthy again, but I’m not yet. Anxiety for days, friends, and relationships lost buzz around my head like beach flies. They move too quickly to catch so I get up and begin to walk.
As I walk, my eyes molest the shoreline for smooth skipping stones. I connect the dots farther and farther from my initial place of rest. With each pop and hop of every new skipping rock, the pandemonium at sea dies down. The tide is changing. Slowly at first, and then in a blink of an eye. Old water sucked out to sea like a snake molting and losing its skin, giving way for growth and repair.
The water has become still, but the ocean is very much so alive. Without the constant imperfections of backwash and wind-chop, wildlife makes its presence known. Three seals curiously follow my path down the beach, constantly popping their heads out of the water, reminding me that I may not have been as alone as I once thought. Perhaps I should give my family a call. It has been a long time since I’ve talked to my mom.
By the time I get back to my print in the sand, the tide seems to have completely dropped. How long have I been walking? The reef that once formed waves was now exposed. It’s darker than I imagined. It smells rotten like a refrigerator left open overnight. I walk over to check it out. In the tide pools I see my reflection. I need to shave. The reef is battered and flattened by the waves. Despite black walls of water crashing and crunching and smashing and crashing over and over again, the reef is still there, showing off its smell, glistening skin for all to admire.
I can’t help but smile into those tide pools. My hair sticks to my face like moss. Perhaps I will grow it out a bit longer. The moon continues to orbit the earth and all life ebbs and flows with it. With the sun on my shoulders I am ready to show off.
Fog rolls in and it’s time to move out. But what is one more minute by the sea?
Feet grip crumbling cliffs like roots. Rock is no match for you and the waves.
Together like a puzzle.
Edges fade.
It’s summertime in Half Moon Bay and that means iced coffee and pink sunglasses. Cool ocean air kisses my cheeks and suddenly I am blushing. Behind these cat-eyed shades my eyes go from open to closed, open to closed, like the waves surging up and down the beach. I can hear children down the bay and suddenly I’m a child on my Daddy’s shoulders, yelling at him to run faster as my brother chases us into the shallow water. Laughter, screams, spit, salt. Boys playing in the ocean.
The same ocean pulling me to sleep wakes me up again. Waves connect the dream world to reality. The anticipation of a rising wave is as loud as the crash. They arise from nothing, appearing out of the spinach green water like magic. The waist high walls then begin their march towards shore. They are dancing for a crowd. The energy bump is smooth at first, pregnant tummies. But the closer they get, the sharper their edges become. Water sucks up the face and vanishes with the spray. Finally, when the waves just can’t take it any longer, they break. But they don’t break like something broken. They break like a dancer. Or a curveball. It’s movements completely change in an instant. Water once sucked out the back falls downward, exploding into 10,000 glass shards. Every breaking wave takes my breath away.
I have the day off and I feel so free. The air running through my short hair makes me feel like I’m being baptized by the breeze. I tilt my chin back, close my eyes, and let out a little smile. I must look so silly to the birds, simply sitting and basking in the wind that flows underneath their wings. But I continue to smile like I’m trying to tan my teeth. The world is playing with me and begging me to play too. On this beach in Half Moon Bay I feel accepted by the natural world around me. It’s on days like this that I feel most confident.
Clouds tease the idea of shade, but none are brave enough to cross the sun. Heat sticks to my skin and I soak it all in like a sponge. I am a battery being charged. I’m energized. I’m calm like the ocean waves. I’m patient like the afternoon wind. I’m in love like the birds. I’m stable like the cliffs. I see myself everywhere I look and I feel happy. Everything fits together as if everything was created to fit together. Even the cry of seagulls begins to sound like poetry.
Sweat builds on my brow. The sun beats down on me like it’s trying to kill me, or worse, get sweat in my eyes. This the sign I’ve been waiting for, so I pull off my shirt and make a run for the water’s edge. The sand is hot. My run turns into a skip and then I feel it. This water is cold. I dive in and my body tightens up. My skin is the front line in the war between the Northern California water and a warm-blooded animal. I ache, freeze, and burn over every inch of my body. Cold water on a hot day. I’m splashing around by myself. I am more alive in this moment than ever before.
The horizon is blurred unlike the crisp cliff sides. The trees bend inland, hunched over like sulky teenage boys. Backs turned from their Mama. Backs turned from the sea. The ocean foam is splattered like vomit on concrete. Who’s cleaning that up? In time it will be nothing but a stain. Thanks Mama.
The sun is setting over the Pacific Ocean, just as the San Francisco city lights flicker on behind me. The constant hum of rolling waves blends with the rumble of evening traffic. The sky is as red as the Golden Gate, but the air feels as cold as the sea. Time moves so quickly when the sun sets. Moments turn to memory with a blink. The time-lapse of the ocean appears in front of me. My time here is running out and I’m trying to soak it in like I do the sun.
It feels like a lifetime ago that I first stepped foot on Northern Californian beaches. My limbs were thinner and my thoughts were darker and I felt a lot more alone. I begin to think that I was a completely different person back then. I wonder if I changed in an instant, like an ocean surge when it hits a shallow shelf, straightening quick and crashing quicker. Or perhaps I changed like the tides, each moment indistinguishable from the last, until all of the sudden the beach is unrecognizable.
Today, the waves at Ocean Beach are big, but they are organized. The wind is blowing from the south-east and sends spray from the lip of the waves towards the horizon. The backlit spray looks like sparks from a summer bonfire. I feel similar sparks bouncing and burning in my stomach. The thousands of possibilities of my future curl and break and crumble and peal and push down the beach in front of me. No wave is particularly better than any other, but each of them is different. I’m mind-surfing the green walls from the beach, trying to find patterns in the madness. But the sandy ocean floor beneath the waves changes every instant and this changes the surf. It quickly becomes apparent that this is impossible. With a thousand waves to catch, I’ll never know if I picked the right one.
By now the sun has disappeared into the sea and any warmth left on this beach followed quickly behind it. The colors are trapped in the clouds now, one last reminder of the good times I’ve had. But soon even that light will be gone and so will my friends and I will be forced to find my way in the dark. I’m not afraid. I’ve done it before and I will do it again. My fingers dig up the sand in excitement. My future may be uncertain, but I’ve ridden enough waves to dance around any section the ocean throws at me.
Walking back to my car I stop on top of the tall sand dunes. The sky is dark. The stars and the street lights shine like memories. They twinkle and they flicker but I’m smiling because they are still there. I’ve come so far in four years and there is no stopping now. Waves thump in my chest and I feel powerful like the sea. I’m constantly changing but I’m always me. On top of those sand dunes I feel rushed and timeless all at once. One foot in each world. Human, but not quite. I hop in my car and drive home in silence. The waves are still thumping in my chest.
Thank you, specifically
For benefiting me and letting me unwrap you patiently.
I pay attention to your movements with honesty
Your playful waves were childhood distractions and I feel as if I’m describing a dream.
