When I awoke there was a thick fog engulfing the beach
community where I live. The forecast
said it would clear by mid-morning and it did.
I filled my backpack with bottled water, goggles, and a towel in
preparation for my routine, long-distance, ocean swim. The water is still frigid so I slipped into
my wetsuit and took Ibuprofen to ward off the aches and pains of aging.
The swimming conditions were idyllic: sunny, a gentle breeze, and tranquil water. It was not long into my swim when I realized a
dense fog bank had suddenly overtaken me.
Given I was roughly 150 feet offshore, I could barely see the beach.
The shoreline serves as a reference to keep me on a straight
line and prevents me from inadvertently swimming out to sea. Without seeing the beach a swimmer can easily
become disoriented.
Although my initial reaction was to head to shore, the
allure of the fog was intoxicating. Swimming
in the ocean is a very spiritual experience for me, and the fog only accentuated
the mood. I was in my own solitary world
free of all the unpleasantness I left behind on dry land.
I chose to continue my swim.
Why wouldn’t I?
I didn’t want to return to people with their heads in the
sand who brazenly ignore medical and scientific wisdom to blindly follow
disingenuous politicians and business leaders who suggest we’ve essentially made
it through the pandemic.
I didn’t want to be reminded that the self-absorbed, young adults
who recklessly and flauntingly disregard every precaution to stop the spread of
the virus will soon be the caregivers for my generation in our final
years.
I didn’t want to return to watch people forsake the greater
safety of all to indulge their own selfish needs and desires.
And I didn’t want to return to the ubiquitous racism that
has afflicted us since the days of slavery and the abhorrent behavior of those
who devalue black lives.
I realize I’m sounding like a misanthrope and maybe I am,
but how can you not be disheartened by such ignorance, bias, apathy, selfishness,
and violence that permeates America.
So I swam further and further. I couldn’t see the typical landmarks on shore
that tell me how far I’ve gone, but I sensed it was further than normal. There was no fatigue in my stroke. It was like I could swim forever in the peace
and harmony of the fog-shrouded sea.
I think it’s human nature for us to want to shut out the
world when things are too unsettling or threatening which is why I found such
solace in the fog. But, nothing
constructive occurs when we escape to our parochial comfort zones while
forsaking the greater world around us.
I eventually returned to shore with cautious optimism that
we might somehow come to appreciate our folly and turn a brief period of adversity
and uncertainty into resolute solidarity and social progress.
