The Little Tidepool That Could

 

When I was about 11 or so, my family took a vacation to Disneyland. We generally went about once every few summers, and this summer was one of those summers. While we were gone, we asked our neighbor, a very nice man named Ray, to watch the house. He gladly obliged, we gave him the keys and we were well on our way. About a week into being gone, we get a phone call from Ray, who tells my stepfather that he came over one day to check on things and the house was flooded. He said that it had started under the kitchen sink, and that there was water everywhere, in all the rooms, and was worried we would blame him for some reason. Of course we didn't, we knew it wasn't his fault. We assured him he was not the cause, then finished our vacation and then headed home to assess the damage.

The house was, to put it lightly, a total wreck. The water had damaged most of the furniture, warped a lot of the molding and overall it was going to need an entire rehaul. Thankfully we had home owners insurance and that covered most, if not all, of the repair expenses. And while it was neat that I got an entirely new bedroom constructed out of it, as to that point my bedroom had merely been my stepfathers cramped previous home office which this repair completely remade into a rather luxurious living space complete with a ceiling fan and a walk in closet, I couldn't help but feel like this wasn't the first time that water would invade my life in one way or another.

I had a lot of trouble learning how to swim as a child. I had to take private lessons, I was so bad at it, and this wasn't the only thing I had a lot of trouble learning how to do. Despite eventually conquering my problems, overcoming my issues and learning how to, at the very least, swim moderately okay enough not to drown if I had to, I still disliked water. My aunt and uncle, whom myself and my stepsiblings spent a good amount of time with during the summer at her house up in wine country in the middle of a vineyard, a house they themselves had built from scratch, had a pool. They were fairly well off financially, and this place was what you'd call a mcmansion, no question. And every summer we went up there, it was almost expected of us to swim. I hated swimming, but they made me do it anyway.

While growing up, mostly because I was uncoordinated and slightly challenged, my stepfather had to stand in the bathroom with me next to the shower and wash my hair for me. He often did it very roughly, not being gentle about it whatsoever, and usually resulted in me having my hair pulled or twisted, which wound up with me crying. These are not good memories. I don't like water. I have many reasons not to like water. I continually think that one day, I will die in water.

And then, just this past summer, while living in my girlfriends parents basement again, we had a flood. Thankfully nothing got damaged, it was a very minor flood and was fixed really easily, but once again, water had found its way into my life to try and hurt me. I'm beginning to think that water is never going to stop trying to take things away from me. Hell, I once almost died because I didn't drink enough water.

🐷

When I was very very little, maybe 5 or 6, I wound up getting sick.

I was so exhausted from being sick that I simply refused to eat or drink anything, because I simply didn't have the energy to do so. Because of this, I became extremely dehydrated and wound up in the hospital for months on end. I can remember some of this experience, including have to relearn how to walk because I was in bed for so long. To this day, I don't drink enough water, because, quite frankly, and I recognize this must sound extremely paranoid, I don't trust the damn stuff. Time and time again it's tried to hurt me in one way or another.

After our house flooded, we had to live in a hotel for a while. After that, we moved into another house that we rented for about a year until the renovations on our own were finished. This house had a pool as well, but this pool...this pool was an unsightly blemish on an otherwise alright home. It hadn't been cleaned in ages and had gunk and muck inside of it that, no matter what you tried to do, it seemed, just wouldn't come out. Add another gross hunk of water to the story of my life.

For many years, my mother worked for a woman named Roberta, whose husband was a big name at Microsoft and was fairly rich. Roberta, in turn for doing the work my mother did for her, let us use their beach house time and time again. This beach house was located, as the name implies, directly onto the beach, and if you walked maybe 2 or 3 minutes down a small sandy path, you'd eventually be on the beach proper, with the ocean water lapping at your toes.

And then, when my parents finally divorced, much too late, mind you, my mother and I moved to a small town called Capitola and lived, once more, directly up the street from the beach. Sometimes, late at night, when the beach was empty and quiet and all you could hear was the wind and the waves, I would sit on a bench and shut my eyes and just relax to the ambient noise of what was around me. I have lived far too much of my life near water, around water, on water, and frankly I don't want water anywhere near me ever again if I can help it.

🐷

I know these stories all seem unconnected, but I assure you, there's a point.

Water has repeatedly found its way into my life, and I really wish it wouldn't. I don't like the idea of finally having a home, a safe place of my own that I can feel comfortable in, and then having water decide to take all of that away from me in the blink of an eye. It's felt like, ever since that original flood in my house as a little girl, that there's been a flood inside of me. The human body is said to be made up of mostly water, and yet I've never felt calm waters inside of me, only raging rapids of indecision and unhappiness, irritability and repressed emotions. I am not a tepid lake, I am a whirling typhoon. I'm not a relaxing soak at a spa, I'm a bubbling hot tub of rage and depression, ready to explode if someone just heats things up a bit too high.

I try to keep myself in check, I try to do things that will alleviate my annoyances and sadness, but it never seems to work, not fully anyway. Which is fine, that's to be expected. But I've really come to admit that I don't want to be an overheating hot tub or a scalding geyser or anything of the sort. I want to be a tidepool.

When I was a little girl, sometimes we'd go to the beach. Not proper, not with a towel and a whole day of sand and swim; just for a walk I mean. This was often before my mother re-married and things got a lot more inwardly explosive, so it's a time I at least sort of remember with more fondness than others. And at the beach, the one we went to anyway, I'd often venture out onto the rocks and find tidepools. These tiny little microcosms of communities, filled to the brim with life and harmony. At least what it seemed on the surface, as I don't live in one I guess I can't say for certainty that everything in there isn't killing one another every second of the day. But it seemed safe enough. Comforting, even, to know that this level of tranquility could be achieved. Hell, even when we went to aquariums, something else we did a lot when I was young (before AND after she met my stepfather), my favorite part was always the tidepools. Sticking your hands in there briefly and touching these creatures, knowing they wouldn't hurt you or be hurt by your presence.

I aspire for that level of peace. Where my waves are not formed because of aggression but rather because of calmness. If I'm going to spend my life being full of water, something I'd rather not be full of, then can't my water at least be that of a serene lake instead of a wild rapid? I don't often speak of inner peace or serenity, and that's not even what I'm discussing here, not really. I recognize that things like anger and sadness are important things to feel, and that to only feel calmness and happiness all the time would be ridiculous; emotionality is a spectrum that, like any spectrum, deserves to be recognized across the board. But I do think there's something to be said for being able to at least live your life somewhere in the middle. A healthy dose of sloshing violent waves and cool collected waters. An ocean of anger when necessary, and a pond of serenity when wanted.

If only I could find that sweet spot in the middle to throw my life preserve to.

🐷

I've only ever been on one boat ride in my life, and that was when I was about 12 and we went all up and down the coast to see the sights, eventually landing in Niagra Falls. The boat ride was The Maid Of The Mist.

For those of the uninitiated, the Maid of the Mist is a simple little boat ride where you get on a very small little boat, wearing a poncho, and it takes you close up to and sometimes damn near inside of (from what I can recall anyway) the falls. It's meant to give you a sense of awe and wonder, being that up close to a naturally made monument, and it certainly doesn't disappoint. The Maid of the Mist boat ride is the one and only time that I ever appreciated being in or around water. Perhaps its because all the other times were expected of me, or thrust upon me, or were, in simplistic terms, very very bad. Unexpected house floods and summer time pool swims and rough showers. But the Maid of the Mist wasn't any of those things. It was just simply showcasing something beautiful, something that, if you can wash away (not to be cute) all the negative things that come along with water, what you're left with is something fresh, something...

...cleansing.

And that's what it was. It was a sense of cleansing. A sense of washing away the bad connotations and thriving on only the good that was left behind. I can remember standing on that boat, right beside my stepbrother, gazing up in justifiable jaw dropping awe at the waterfalls that were right overhead, and thinking to myself, "This is nice. I like this." I have always wanted to go back on the Maid of the Mist, but to this day I've simply never had the chance. Much as I strive to be a tidepool, I must admit there's also something endearing about being a waterfall. Defying all expectations and inspiring others with your beauty and elegance. If only one could find a way to live somewhere between the two, a happy medium, of free falling water and stand still water. Then, I think, that's a personality worth having. Then maybe I wouldn't mind being so full of a thing I really dislike in every other way.

I suppose the one great thing about water, that even I have to admit, is that it can change everything in a second, and what more powerful an ability is there to have? Maybe it's good we're full of water, because it means we're full of opportunities to continue to change, not just ourselves, but those around us as well. Like a sweeping wall of water that rushes through a town and displaces hundreds, or a peaceful trickle that rolls through and gives sustenance to those who need it, water, and the people who have it inside of them, are forever capable of altering things.

Personally, I'd still rather be the tidepool than the typhoon.

At least most of the time.