I am on a work trip at a beachfront hotel. Work trips to nice places are like staring in the window of a candy shop. I see things. They look amazing. But they are over there.

Earlier this year, on a family trip, I had my first experience going into the ocean. One beach was on the island of Crete, the birthplace of Zeus, in Greece.

The water was the bluest blue and went on forever. The blue expanse alone was an impressive sight. I stood in the ocean. The horizon vanished into a haze of ocean spray—a foggy mist. The water movement felt different from how it looked. I saw waves. They moved through the water towards the shore.

The waves crashed into my legs, and I lost my balance a little. The motion was more rhythmic than directional. The wave crashed into the front of me, but a swirling motion happened to my body. A circular rocking.

I felt as though my feet were planted, though I took little imperceptible steps each time the arcing water splashed. There was an underlying noise, accented by the splash of the cresting water.

Woooshhhhh, splash, wooshh, splashhhh.

Consistent in presence, but not in timing, the waves pushed me. Shoving me. I held my ground. Resisting the water, I stood my ground. After some time, I looked back at the shore, and I was no longer where I thought I was. The waves moved me despite thinking I was standing still.

The waves are not a separate thing. They are the water. They rise, then return (or continue) to be water. I sometimes feel like a separate thing, but I am not. I am part of this. Even if I try to plant my feet and resist, I am being carried around. I have the option to move in the direction I want. It might be more challenging than I want. Sometimes I have to go with the flow. Sometimes I get taken with the flow.

Am I steering or being steered? Where can I use the current to my benefit? Have I fallen for the illusion of standing still?

Be curious, be kind, be whole, do good things.