My thoughts are the crashing waves that pulled me out to sea. It’s as if the light of the full moon awakened Poseidon. Judging by the strength of the current, his awakening was not a pleasant one. The ocean had me in its grasp now. Stealing me from my tranquil shore, dragging me through the coral and broken shells. I bob in and out of the water. Every now and then, strands of seaweed caress my legs, begging me to stay. Each time, their offer becomes appealing. But that sort of stability would be deadly, so I kick and I thrash and I refuse to be enticed. It’s reached the point of sink or swim. I never learned how to carelessly float on my back. So if you see me merely floating along, it’s because life has left my body. That image fuels my adrenaline, but my bursting speed is short lived. I’ve always been poor at pacing myself. These harsh waters have once again become overly-threatening. It’s the space between each wave that pushes me under water, that I am able to quiet these thoughts of drowning. Breathe. Slow down. The water is no longer tossing me aimlessly, but pushing me in the right direction. Breathe. Stroke. There is nothing left but this now. As my energy becomes more reserved, my pace finally develops for the long run. Breathe. Stroke. The ocean has calmed. A man lost at sea, on the brink of destruction, is now headed back to shore.
Earlier today, I spontaneously arrived at the conclusion that I favor the phrase “my heart was stolen” over “I gave my heart to…”. These are two phrases that I believe most people would view to be the same but to me, are powerfully different, and equally as beautiful. To give your heart to someone means that you have kept a firm grip on it, whether it be because of someone abusing your love in the past, spitefully divorced parents who have tarnished your idea of what love is supposed to be like, fear that the bond you and another share will fade away while you lay there hoping, or maybe you’re just careful. But for whatever reason you may have, you have been keeping your heart close to you in much more than the obvious, physical manner. To give your heart to somebody means you believe that they’ve earned your trust and love. You’ve let all your walls, security measurements, and protocols down so that you may finally embrace another. By my last sentence, it should be apparent that giving your heart to someone is very risky , but to have it stolen, can be much more frightening. To have your heart stolen is hardly, if ever, under your control. It takes a little time, but when it happens, it’s sudden. You don’t even realize that a person is quietly picking the locks to your chest. Maybe you weren’t being careful. You never intended for your heart to be in the hands of another person, but turning back is no longer an option. To “have your heart stolen” and “to give your heart to another person” are both equally beautiful experiences with the possibility to be devastating. Picking a rose doesn’t come without the threat of thorns, after all. To talk on a more personal note: I would much rather have my heart stolen, than to give it up. My heart is well guarded and well hidden, and if you have the skill to take it from me, then for better or for worse, it is yours.
One of the many things I love is singing happy birthday, with a group of people. The “Birthday Song” is a song of celebration, therefore it should be sung accordingly. It isn’t about sounding perfect or being melodically beautiful, or even in key! It is a song that should be shouted into the atmosphere with a goal of the stars feeling one’s passion. Having a song that is pleasant to the ears is always nice, but there is something heartwarming about a group of people yelling “Happy birthday” out of the excitement of celebration for someone’s mark of another year on this earth. It is said that you should never let your emotions get the best of you, but sometimes excitement should not be contained.
Happy Birthday Savannah.
There have been many times where I have turned myself around and picked up my successful tendencies. There has also been just as many instances where I have found myself back on the beaten path of bad habit. I need to learn to walk more carefully. I become so overwhelmingly motivated that I don’t just turn myself around, I take off sprinting in my new found direction. Having intense motivation is never a bad thing, but this journey is, without a doubt, a long one. One is always more likely to follow through traveling if they walk instead of run. Too many times have I sprinted off in my new direction with the burning phoenix of motivation at my feet, only to find myself back on the beaten path, out of breath and fatigued. I need to learn to take my time, one step at a time. Breathe in. Breathe out. Turn myself around. Breathe in. Breathe out. I have now started my new journey at a steady pace.
If you’ve ever jumped off of a high-up place for the first time, into a body of water, then you have an idea of what my life can be like. You spend time building up encouragement and motivation to make the jump, wrestling your nerves to the point where they finally calm enough to make a cool and collected jump, or until they break into a panicked spring over the edge. When jumping off of anything, one usually estimates an idea of when they will land. When you jump off of a high-up structure, for the very first time, you tend to think that you’re going to land earlier than you actually do. For those few extra seconds in between your expectation and the surface of the water, you become mildly panicked. You plunge deep down, realizing you didn’t take in a comfortable amount of oxygen before you made your plunge into the water. This realization becomes more and more apparent with every stroke towards the surface. You start to scramble for your life, violently thrashing your arms and legs against the water, and right when you feel you’re about to run out of oxygen, you breach the surface of the water. The fear and anxiety subsides to relief and happiness, knowing that you made it through, what you thought, was going to be the worst.