Oceans

Oceans

“I sailed on ocean; unsettled ocean; through restful waters and deep commotion; often frightened, unenlightened…” - from Sail on Sailor by The Beach Boys

I have spent much of my adult life either on or near an ocean.

I lived scant miles from The Pacific back in the 1990s (Thousand Oaks, California) where the world-famous Malibu Beach was a short drive from my house. Today I live two blocks from the Atlantic. And many years of working for Disney Cruise Line® have taken me to both, not to mention the Mediterranean, the Gulf of Mexico, and the Caribbean.

I like it all. The vastness, the calm and the surf, ships that pass in the night, the wildlife and ever-shifting colors of water and sky. The reflection of the sun on the waves or the sight of a looming storm with its menacing dark clouds roiling in the sky off the horizon.

I have experienced a hurricane and a “super storm” (AKA: “Sandy”), and I have spent endless days on still waters in warm sunshine. The ocean - that concept of endless water - has proved inspirational and rejuvenating these past umpteen years, a metaphor in a life that has seen much failure and occasional success.

A quick word on failure since I brought it up. My accomplishments, humble as they are, have a direct correlation to the endless (there’s that word again) failings in my personal and professional life.

If the ocean is a personification of life, I’ve been chasing the sun, shore-to-shore, island-to-island, port-to-port, hoping against hope to catch something I can’t quite see. Whatever that is, every time I get close it escapes.

I’m Ahab stalking that big whale; or Balboa in a futile search for some mythical pot of gold; or even Jimmy Buffet longing for a Margaritaville where long lazy days are followed by comfortably cool nights surrounded by easygoing, shiny happy people without agendas.

And tomorrow? Back on some boat, cruising to the next adventure, following my personal sextant, gauging the stars, forgetting the fact that my last stop was unsuccessful - another failure I suppose - because whatever it is I’m after wasn’t there.

But who cares? There are more ports and experiences and “Brandy, you’re a fine girl, what a good wife you would be… but my life, my love and my lady, is the sea.”*

It’s those failures and the welcome stops at islands and ports and shores that dot the oceans I have traversed all these years that reinforce my undefined quest. Even as I refer to them as “failures” I know these are really part of the process. A whale? A pot of gold? A “Margaritaville?”

Maybe.

But maybe it’s just the ocean, the flow of the Gulf Stream, the warm westerly winds, the breaching of whales on the Inner Passageway in Alaska or the dramatic trip through the Panama Canal. These are all part of an exploration, but none have context.

Well, no context until you have spent a lifetime sailing and observing and ridden out storms - personal, professional, literal - on open waters, putting your faith in the PROCESS. I’m always looking to the horizon for a ray of light in the darkness, the sight of a sandy beach or rocky cliff.

That’s another thing about the ocean - the horizon is always there whether I can see it or not. A long, sometimes blurry line in the distance. I have spent many mornings with a dog walking along the shoreline of the town where I live - Beach Haven on Long Beach Island, New Jersey, watching the sun peek over the edge of that horizon, signaling a new day, a new beginning, a new idea and a new process to begin.

These oceans are connectors. There is a divide, of course - just stand at the edge of the water and stare out at unending waves rolling in from as far away as our eyes can see. So, unless you have a well-built craft to get you through the many failures and unforeseen glitches that waylay a voyage, the ocean is a divider.

And even with a sturdy boat there are failures: engine breakdowns, no wind for days on end as sails lay limp on the mast, desperate for a hint of breeze.

Adrift.

That’s another thing about the ocean. There are unseen riptides and currents beneath the surface, pushing you. Nudging you.

Last night here on the Disney Dream cruise ship there was a “Silent DJ Dance Party.” I watched, transfixed. There was no music at all in the ‘dance club,’ yet people were laughing and dancing and singing. They wore headphones and reacted to what they were hearing - and while I didn’t get it at first I finally realized: I could not possibly understand because I COULDN’T HEAR THE MUSIC.

These people were dancing TOGETHER but listening to completely different songs and tracks - and that was a sort of revelation. Divided, perhaps because they danced to a different drummer, they were moving as one.

So, the oceans that seemingly divide us - and who decided we have to be divided anyway? - those oceans between islands and continents and people are part of a process in this life we all share.

With respect to the many failures and unexpected storms that we have sailed through or sailed around or have entered as of now, it might seem as if there is no shoreline on the horizon.

Look again. Climb up to the crow’s nest and look into the spyglass. Link to those stars overhead. Come about, Mr. Christian. All hands on deck.

LAND HO!

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* From the song Brandy You’re a Fine Girl (1972) written by Elliott Lurie and performed Looking Glass.

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Thanks for reading!
Taylor

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