TW: contains a mild reference to suicidal ideation.
Having lived by the sea my whole life, I’ve never really given it too much thought. I walk along the beach all the time and, while I usually notice small things about the water (whether the tide is in or out), I’ve never really been drawn to it. But today that changed.
Walking along the esplanade, the first thing I noticed was that the water was grey and stormy, angry almost, as though it had been stirred by the wrath of some Higher Power. Then I noticed that, although the tide was in, it was on its way out. There was therefore a very narrow length of beach along which one might walk by the waters edge. I was then overcome by an intense desire to be down there, on the sand, as close to the water as I could get.
Once down there, with the water lapping over my boots, I stared out at the bleak expanse and it struck me that, in theory, one could reach anywhere in the world from this point. Putting technicalities to the side for one moment, I could enter the water here and arrive anywhere else in the world. But almost as quickly as I could process that scenario, I suddenly felt quite numb, almost removed from my body, like I was watching from above. The sea looked hungry, eager to swallow anything in its path. How easy it would be, I thought, to just walk into the water, right now, before I could give it too much thought, and let it take me…