As a small child when you’re hurt or upset, your mother or father or someone would carry you. You could fall asleep in the car or somewhere, and your parents would carry you to your bed. I recently read something very small and simple, that was kind of profound. At some point, your mother or father put you down and never picked you up again. Hmm, I thought, it’s true and it’s kind of sad. You never really knew it would be the last time someone carried you and you were probably too young to appreciate being carried anyway.
For the most part, for the rest of your life you carry yourself. Hopefully you carry yourself well, with dignity and pride. Rarely does one, as an adult get to let go in that way and feel cared for as you did in childhood. A bride being carried over the threshold on her wedding day is a romantic gesture and when an athlete is lifted up over his teammates’ shoulders it’s showing appreciation.
The sea carries me. When I swim way out away from the crowds, and I’m floating in the water, I feel weightless. I feel at one with nature. My head is clear. The sea washes away my worries, heals my aches and in that moment, the sea is carrying me. It tells me everything will be fine. The sea is where I feel free.