Who am I?

The day I learn to dive into the wave head-on is the day I realise I have some control over my fate.

Diving into a wave, feeling the power of the water, then surfacing for a fresh breath of air is a feeling unlike anything on land.

A second wave hits while my eyes are still closed, just as I take that deep breath, the universe’s way of reminding me that control is an illusion.

The sand remembers where I’ve been but not who I am. Does leaving a mark make it less beautiful or more real?

The children chase the water, jump over the waves, roll in the sand, so immune to the impracticality.

The beach removes enough anxiety to make space for the sudden urge to run, to twirl, to search, and to find myself in the vastness.

The nostalgia of a time when I was so sure who I was lingers. When did I lose myself?

Perhaps she’s somewhere between the waves and the wind, waiting for me to stop trying to control the tide.