Float - Originally Written by Mark Power, February 6th 2019
Updated: Jul 22, 2022
Ten years ago my wife and I travelled to Playa Del Carmen, Mexico for a vacation. At the time my wife and I weren’t exactly seeing eye to eye. It was a painful season for certain. I was unhappy and discouraged about a lot of things during the months leading up to our trip. Since then, my wife, Dawna-Lynne and I have weathered many storms; each have helped prepare us for setbacks which have included cancer, profound loss, disappointment, and a lot of uncertainty.
During this trip to Mexico; I was emotionally and physically exhausted. Though there were instances during our vacation where we managed to carve out the time we needed to reunify and heal. This was when category five waves of despair ripped onto the shores of our beachfront paradise.
One afternoon I went out for a swim in the ocean. I walked along the beach about a half kilometre or so and veered off the beaten path of the resort’s beachfront property to give myself some time and space away from the crowded hotel. As I swam roughly 100 meters out into the ocean; I found myself caught in an unrelenting undertow, being pushed further and further out to sea; seemingly eight to ten feet per second. Before I knew it, my feet could no longer find the ocean floor. Here is where I experienced, not my first; but perhaps my closest brush with death by my own doing. As with everything else happening in my life at the time; the waves undertow became a metaphor of how overwhelming life had become. Depression, anxiety and exhaustion are lethal bedfellows. Mustering the will to wave (no pun intended) and call for help seemed an ineffective use of my energy. I could barely see the shore. How would anyone see me? Why endanger someone else by having them rescue me? Remember, I was already way out of bounds of the area patrolled by lifeguards. My best efforts to swim through or around the powerful undertow were futile. At one point, I realized I had been adrift longer than I care to admit. Long enough to notice the sun was easing slowly into the horizon. The only thing worse than drowning; would be drowning in complete darkness. Again, I wanted to scream for help. Though; as I hope you never have to discover; there is a razor-thin line between choosing to save ones breath in an attempt to save ones own life. At this point; any attempt to swim back to shore became an absolute treadmill underwater. I was getting nowhere fast.
Usually, on land, when anxiety rears it’s ugly head; I dig in, stand with confidence; and give adversity "what for" with a stiff upper lip. I do whatever it takes to deem me to be “worthwhile” and “good enough” in order to move upward and onward.
There would be no “faking it” through this endeavour. The terms of my surrender were preordained. I resolved I would die broken and ashamed. I had no one else to blame for my predicament. My strength, my pride, my will to live stripped away with every futile kick and salt-water tainted gulp of breath I could muster.
I finally gave in; allowed my body to go limp; outstretched my arms, face up, and gazed at the sky falling towards me. And just “floated”. I don’t attest to understand everyone’s faith, religion or spirituality. Though; in my moment of surrender, it became clear God has a heart for broken people. I just never, until my brush with death believed I was one of them. The undertow stripped away my pride. Left me broken and helpless.
To “float” is to believe something you can’t see will hold you up and carry you to where you belong. It’s counterintuitive to throw in the towel. A leap of faith, to give up. Ultimately, this is what “hope” is all about. When we can’t hold on or hang in there anymore, we can surrender and let god, fate, or perhaps even the "Patron Saint of Floating" carry us home. Never did I expect how in my desperation would I receive an invitation to live. Inexplicably, I somehow, slowly, eventually floated back to shore. Life still asks me to sink or swim from time to time. The difference is, I'm better at accepting my circumstances when I'm in over my head. I don't need to pretend, dig in, or posture to rise up, to be enough.
I've been reading a lot of obituaries and anxiety-inducing news stories lately and believed maybe someone might need to read this tonight. It's safe to "float". The surrender which allows us to float back home is the hardest part. Don’t let your hearts become desensitized; calcified, a stone, an anchor. Just Float...
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