How to survive a drowning

The dream swallowed me whole, breaking my heart and opening my eyes.

As my eyelids twitched and my body lay still, I began to realize that the thing I once immersed myself and found solace in was finally revealing its true colours, its volatility.

Water, not surprisingly a feminine element, ate me alive.

But in my dream, I let it.

I saw its swells start small, an invite to those who dared to come along for the ride. But as those who said yes bravely joined in, the swells grew in size, ferociously breaking into waves and destroying everything and everyone in their path.

I remember watching this from a serene and stable structure. The walls around me were made of mostly glass, framed by a warm birchwood that made the room glow. I could smell its cottage scent and feel the salt of the water sit damp on my skin.

I don’t know what made me step outside of this safety to test the waters, but at that moment, things seemed calm. The water was still, and I told myself I’ve done this before and I can do it again.

So I got it in. Not as bravely as the others, but with a curiosity that I might have mistaken for confidence. I looked down, noticing a surfboard attached to my ankle, and I thought, this could either save my life or be the thing that ends it.

I knew I was in too deep, but it was too late. I could feel the water stir below, sense the sea’s appetite up ahead, and hear the waves as they formed behind me.

I was pulled under.

I tried to follow its rhythmic pattern, but its force was too strong. There was no chance of catching a breath, no opportunity to find my footing.

I let it take me. With eyes wide open underwater, I didn’t feel the burn of the salt or the fear of what was to come, but rather a sense of calm in the chaos.

I didn’t try to get out, shield myself from the force, or use my board to ride the waves home. I surrendered myself to the fact that this — this steady submersion — was now my life.

But when I awoke, I told myself something different, something even more calming.

As I lay in bed, I turned my head to the window, seeing the sun peek out from behind the blinds.

I remembered the drowning, the surrender, the complacency, and I told myself: life doesn’t have to be that way.