Ocean Flying

Part 1: The Sky

I look up. I am covered in a blanket of black licorice. The moon caresses my cheeks, tickling the tips of my ears and my nose. I lay on the teak deck of the SSV Tole Mour next to three girls, people whom I consider as close as family, close enough to discuss that which I am afraid of. I tell them I am afraid I will not live my life to its fullest potential, that the opinions others have of me will force me down paths I would rather not take. I tell them I don’t care what the world thinks of me, yet like all humans, I am affected by its opinions. I fear a life of absurdity, a life chained to conformity, like that of Sisyphus. I want to live my life like we do here on the Tole Mour, I say, a life where love is the thread that binds us together, where we respect each other, allow our passions to fuel us, where we are not afraid to express our emotions.

There is no shame on the Tole Mour; we find beauty in that which others would shy away from, like the beauty of the sky above us. The four of us look up together. The grandeur of the full moon seems to dance across the glossy surface of our eyes, seeming to nod in approval to a life of adventure. I close my eyes, and to the rocking of the ship, I am swayed to sleep.

Part 2: The Land

I look around. The silence was deafening. For nineteen minutes, the entire crew of the Tole Mour was completely silent, with only the sounds of the water filling our eardrums with satisfying resonations. During a normal sail strike, meaning the taking down and furling of the lower seven sails, commands would be heard echoing throughout the ship, with callbacks even louder than the commands themselves. Setting and striking sails on the Tole Mour is usually perceived as perfectly planned chaos. This time, with suggestion by the first mate, we decided to do a completely silent strike. It was the most beautiful scene I had every witnessed, eighteen bodies working in complete unison as seven sails were lowered and furled without a sound but the sea around us. Memories like these are what keep the SSV Tole Mour close to my heart, arousing the call of the sea year after year. I have learned to admire beauty in its simplicity, along with an appreciation for the “little things”. Because of the Tole Mour, I sing when I do the dishes, instead of watching TV, I watch the clouds.

Part 3: The Sea

I look down- the choppy, cresting waves of the Pacific lie twenty-five feet below the bowsprit. Above me is nothing but the blue of the sky, the white of the clouds. My arms are convulsing, squirming, uncertain; there is nothing to hold on to. The only way down is to jump, the free fall gifting me with five beautiful seconds of bliss, five seconds of understanding. I close my eyes and wait. This moment, the moment before I allow myself to step away from the edge, before I take a leap of faith, is when realization sets in For 5 seconds I am one with nature. I am surrounded by purity. It is this simple realization that connects me to the past,that is the thread that binds me to a world of Thoreau, Jack Sparrow, Stravinsky, the Beatles, and Andre Agassi. and Davy Jones Locker.

this is where I feel content. Seconds before I splash into the ocean is when I have achieved all that I work so hard for, but never seem to concur. Here, I am a violinist, a composer, a challenging tennis player, an environmentalist with solutions, and a dreamer. I open my eyes and I am content and confident. I step off the edge, and for just a moment, I can fly.