Face to face with the rolling whitewater. I dig deep, build speed, grip my hands slightly but tightly around the rails of my board, arch my back, and attempt to push myself along with my board, up, over, and through the wave.
The wave had just broke, making it powerful and turbulent. My gut told me to ditch my board and dive under, but stubbornness got the best of me; and the ocean… it wanted none of it. Willing to wash me back to my senses, the robust whitewater grabbed my board and I then flipped us around like rag-dolls. There I was, underwater, still gripped to my board, tumbling back towards the beach. Maybe it was the ocean’s way of telling me to leave my stubbornness on the sand, yet I sustained resistance.
I held on. Not wanting to let go. Wanting to be in control. Overly steadfast to “muscle through it.” The ocean had other plans though…
The game of tug-of-war, my board as the rope, continued. My arms shook in every which way, but I clung tighter, gripped harder. My body twisted through uncomfortable positions, but I held my breath and continued to grasp.
Eventually, as always, the ocean delivered another message.
The board was ripped from my hands. I was pulled, by the attached leash, towards the beach.
When I came up out of the water, I was upset at myself. Realizing I had been drug backwards one hundred yards, because I simply wouldn’t let go of my board. I battled, flipped, and turned- demanding to keep my grip only to be reminded that sometimes… one must let go.
Us, humans. Tend to hold on. Grip. Cling. To things that we simply need to release. And in the releasing, we actually move forwards, not back.