The Coming Wave
Last week, I sat across the table from a dear friend as she submitted the last assignment of her college career. I was engrossed in my own work, typing away mindlessly, occasionally lifting my hands off the keys to take a sip from the long-since-warm tea that sat beside me. The cup would leak every time I would lead it to my lips, so I gave up halfway through and left it to seep idly beside me. She closed her laptop ever so quietly, and just sat for a minute. By the time I caught on, after a moment or two, she was wearing this gentle, melancholic expression on her face. I knew that she was done, and I met her eyes, to which she just nodded, smiled and exhaled.
I sat across from someone standing at the threshold and saw her glide over it as if carried by a wave. I can imagine the pride she felt in that moment, but I know that fear is riding closely behind. With every conversation, we’re speaking hope for the future into existence, and simultaneously acknowledging the trepidation of coming up after diving under the wave just moments before. If there is a line in the sand anywhere, it seems like there would be one on the other end of a college graduation.
I was talking to my sister-in-law, who grew up near the ocean, and somehow my fear of being caught in a wave wandered into the conversation. I guessed that there must be some security in simply being in the ocean, and that buoyancy must keep you afloat should you be pulled under the surface. While there is some truth to this, she simply remarked that survival requires more. You have to actually dive into and under the coming wave, reaching for the sand far below you to escape the abrasive and inexorable washing machine tumble. As someone that fears the ocean, the depths and the unknown, the thought of diving to the seafloor feels impossible. But to survive and still have some control over the ebb and flow of it all requires releasing some of that fear.
At the end of the night, as my friend and I sat in front of a fire pit with our hands clenched and teeth chattering (in embarrassingly warm temperatures), it was quiet for a while. We just sat together. After some time had passed, she remarked upon a coming opportunity that was leaving her feeling scared and inadequate, though she earned it for herself. At the end, she took a breath and then simply exhaled, “It’s OK either way. It’s OK.”
Experiencing that moment of finality with her, watching her step over the edge into some new and unknown season and actively choosing to lean into peace left me with an undeniable reality: The wave is coming, so I might as well propel myself toward it, dive underneath and get ready to resurface on the other side.
