One summer afternoon in the long-ago, eight-year-old days of my life I found myself standing
before the ocean, burying my feet farther into the silky sand, listening to the waves move calmly
with the wind. All day my mom had been walking with my dad, talking about things I could not
hear, and building a sense of curiosity as I watched them walk farther away. I later forgot my
curiosity and felt joy as the wind played with my hair and tickled my little face. A few yards
away from me a little boy screamed with delight as he perpetually poked a washed up jelly fish
with his stick and I knew that I could never find pleasure in doing the same thing as him. I
slowly waded into the water taking one step at a time and tossed a few rocks which landed with
big plops farther out into the ocean and I looked yearningly at the white boats so far away. I was
dreaming of sailing far away and going beyond where my small body could take me, but the
vivid memory of my toddler self drowning, kicking and waving tiny arms frantically in an old
friend’s pool before being rescued, made me terrified.