Is This Where Your Dreams Die?

The familiar, melancholic waters of the ocean and a chubby little Mexican man taught me something last week, and I'd like to share the story with you.

Hugging the shoreline with my sandy toes, I cautiously moseyed around the baby jellies that peeked through the foamy waves. New faces would meet mine as they walked by. They'd smile sunny smiles while I turned to hide the tears that raced to touch the curves of my neck.

The taste of tears caught me off guard. I didn't come here to cry, or mourn, or even relive the stories of years gone, but it was clear that the bubbles of my memory had something it needed to show the grown me, the more mature me, the healed me, the new me. So I carved a place in the secluded sand and sat in stillness, without motion or thought, trusting that the warm waters would rush my spirit and welcome me back to the transparency of its playground. 

And that they did; they rushed and they welcomed, with eager delight. My curiosities were acknowledged with love and wrapped in grace, my wonder validated and set at ease. The grittiness of the post-storm waves cleared the fog from the endless lecture of my thoughts, leaving only one to simmer in its wake: 

"Your comfort is why you feel empty," it read, as it displayed like a stock market ticker scrolling on repeat in neon-green letters above my head. “Your comfort is why you feel empty... your comfort is why you feel empty...”

The waves continued to take turns, each sharing something fresh and life-giving. They reminded me that the water in a river, or an ocean, like this one, remains pure because it is moving, reaping the benefits of its internal ecology and oxygen as it churns and swirls. If it becomes trapped, or stagnant, it gets moldy, it dies. It needs circulation, movement and a little bit of energetic chaos here and there. 

"Just like you," one wave whispered to my spirit, “just like you.”

Pausing to breathe a bit deeper, the waves continued, “This comfort zone you’re in, this methodical routine you play out day-by-day, this numbing and pushing down of your innate talents and strengths, this continual forgetting of the dreams and goals you envision, this fear of reaching the next high… is this where you lay your life down? Is this where you want your dreams to die, your body to die? Is this where it ends, where you end?”

“Remember how it felt when you gurgled in obscurity because your comfort held you hostage under the woven rugs of their feet, too shaky and afraid to cry out for help? Remember how you worshipped your plans for suicide, daily begging for it to find you because you were too weak to pass go and collect death at the freedom of your own will?”

“Yes, of course you do. Of course, you remember. And we do, too. That’s why we’re here. To remind you that your restlessness isn’t a curse, it’s a blessing. There’s more for you out there, outside your comfort, and you know this. That’s why your spirit is unsettled. Your search for home isn’t a place, person, or a time in the future, it’s a search for you, in the now - it’s finding and releasing the fullness of all the special things that make you, you.”

Distracted by the sound of splashing in the waves, I open my eyes to a playful smile on the face of a robust little Mexican man with the letters J-E-S-U-S tattooed across the curve of his belly. His eyes met mine, saw my tears, and asked with a calm, soothing voice if I was okay. Wiping the blurry puddles from my cheeks, I shook my head and said with a half smile, “Yes, I am now.” 

I watched him as he bounced with the waves, his arms balancing unsteady feet, his energy squealing in silent ecstasy. “This is my first time here,” he shouted over the roar of the next wave. “I’ve never seen the ocean before!”

His spirit then quietly reached out its hand and touched mine, telling me all I needed to know; that he, too, was out of his comfort zone but he chose to play the game of life and celebrate instead of settling in the comfort of his known.