Mexico Day 100: Us against the ocean

La Barrita, Guerrero //

Mentally, I feel melancholic this morning.  Why are we here?  What are we doing?  What’s the point?  These are the questions that swell inside my brain when I’m met by this state.  Having experienced depression throughout my life, this is not an unfamiliar feeling, but it’s one I work diligently to keep at bay.  So today, instead of sitting at my computer and doing the work I had intended to do, I prioritize getting out of my head and into my body.  I’ve learned that any mentally dominant activity will only exasperate how I’m feeling, while physical activity will minimize it.  

Mark and I walk the length of the beach in both directions before being turned around by the rocky shoreline.  Feeling the soft sand between my toes and the light ocean breeze on my face begins to break me free from my funk.  

Without much breeze moving through our palapa and the heat of the day setting in, Mark and I head back to the beach a few hours later for a swim.  Yesterday in the water, I exercised extreme caution while watching Mark venture out much further than I dared.  Having had a great time, today I tell myself to enjoy it and not be so fearful.  

The approach towards the breaking waves is a gentle, nearly imperceptible slope.  I move so slowly towards it that I hardly notice the change in depth.  The residual of each wave that crashes against me pushes me back towards the shore.  Mark is slightly ahead of me, and I continue to slowly follow behind.  When a larger wave hits with a bit more force, taking me under for just a few seconds, I stand back up and tell mark “I’d hate to fight against an angry sea.”  It’s not long after that comment that I go from feeling in control to completely out of control.  

I had just begun to notice the pull of the outgoing current when I realized I didn’t have the strength to fight against it.  At first, I didn’t perceive this as a problem. I figured I’d ride the next wave towards the shoreline, stand up, and walk out.  The next wave tumbled over the top of me, taking me under for a few seconds.  Although it did move me in the direction I wanted to go, the return current immediately pulled me back out.  My toes were barely making contact with the sea floor, which had gotten much further beneath me than I’d realized.

Survival mode was now activated in my brain.  In an imperceptible amount of time, I lost control, and now the sea was doing a fine job of showing me it had the upper hand.  When I was met by the next two waves, I kicked my legs and swam with more effort than I ever have before.  For a split second, my toes would touch the sand before being pulled right back into the surf.  I wasn’t prepared for the next wave but luckily got enough air in my lungs before going back under.  While holding a shallow breath and hoping I’d return to the surface soon, I started to panic.  In a moment of pure clarity, I rejected that urge.  Caught beneath the churning of a heavy wave, I told myself, “Panic will only make this worse; the only way out of this is by remaining calm”.  

I have spent a lot of my adult life learning how to find inner peace.  Depression, stress, anxiety, guilt, shame.  These are things that have tried to dominate my life for longer than I can remember.  Through years of reading, practicing yoga, off-and-on meditation, and practicing overall healthy habits, I’ve learned how much of our suffering and struggles are exacerbated by, if not solely created by, our minds.  Two decades’ worth of learning how to not let my mind have a stronghold on my life allowed me to shut down panic in a fraction of a second.  

I’m not sure how many more waves washed over me before I began to get control back.  Three, maybe four?  Time was no longer relevant.  Breathing, whenever I had the opportunity, was all that mattered.  Eventually, I was able to dig my toes into the sand just enough to last for a second, then two, then three, before being pulled back in.  The progress was slow, and in the moment, the ability to even judge progress at all was impossible.  The wave I eventually broke free from got me close enough to shore that I was able to turn around, face the unrelenting Pacific, and dig heels into the sea floor deep enough that it couldn’t take me back.  I then turned back towards dry land and, while noticing just how exhausted I’d become, made my way out of the water.  

The entire time I was fighting to break free, I knew that Mark was fighting too, though I never saw him.  As soon as I was out, I turned around and saw his head barely above water.  I could see just enough of his face to know that he wasn’t panicking, though he was still very much caught in the churning surf.  While I wanted to run back to the campground screaming for help, I knew there was very little that anyone could do.  I decided to wait briefly and watch before acting.  In about a minute’s time, he broke free and, in an obviously worn-out state, walked out of the water.  Tears streamed down my face while we hugged one another tightly.  By the time we were back at the truck, not five minutes later, I’d transitioned into shock.  It was hard to believe what had happened, and I couldn’t recall the last time in my life I felt that kind of terror.  

We relayed the event to Heather & Adam during our walk to dinner.  Hearing Mark describe it as a near-death experience sent shivers down my spine.  The thought of him not returning from the water was more than I could bear.  

It was a nice distraction to leave the walls of the campground and have a look around the small village that we’d found ourselves in.  With only 100 people living in La Barrita, I didn’t expect much.  However, our campground host told us there was excellent food to be had at Irma’s place.  His directions were to “go out to the road towards the tope, continue about 200m past the tope until you see an opening in the bushes on the left.”  These directions weren’t only accurate but also necessary given that there was no signage of any kind.  A young woman greeted us and read aloud our options.  Tacos, quesadillas, and huaraches.  A younger girl, I presume both are Irma’s daughters, served our drinks and entrees.  The food was delicious and caused disbelief when the young girl told us the total for five beers and four meals was 275 pesos ($13.75 US).  

Walking back towards camp, a stop at the local tienda was in order for Tecate and Tostitos.  As we approached the store, a man sitting in a chair in front of the store emphatically called out “White people!  Walking down the street!  Are you lost?!”  He laughed and immediately peppered us with questions.  Meanwhile, I was thrown off by his perfectly clear English.  It turned out the man whose name I failed to get lives in California but grew up in Alcapulco.  He’s in town visiting family and is perplexed by the sight of white people in La Barrita.  Not often do Mark or I feel as though we’re doing anything unique until interactions like this one.  We stand outside the tienda and have a delightful exchange before returning to the nearby campground.  Something as simple as this, conversing with a curious stranger in English, is enough to help lighten my mood after the day’s traumatic events.  

Mark and I walk along the beach at sunset, casting a humble gaze towards the crashing waves.  We exchange stories and our individual perspectives on what occurred.  While we both endured the same situation, we very much had our own individual fight with the sea today.  

When I lie in bed and close my eyes, I’m immediately back in the waves.  When I open my eyes, it stops.  Close my eyes, and water is consuming me.  Tears once again stream from my eyes, and a deluge of “what ifs” takes over.  Here again is my mind trying to get the best of me.  

I remind myself that I’m alive, Mark is alive, we are both safe, and everything is okay.  

…

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