When Ambrose and I first hiked the Washington coast, we had several “disasters” that happened because we were not fully prepared for the realities of hiking along the ocean. Water was a big one, in that we had to learn how to find the fresh water, and ended up severely dehydrated at one point. That’s why we didn’t make our whole itinerary the first time.
But what I’m thinking of this morning is what I’d call our first “disaster” experience there on the coast. We had stopped for lunch on a beautiful little bluff because it was lunch time. That wasn’t wise; on the coast, you let the tides dictate when you stop. Ideally, you plan your stops to coincide with the time that the tide will be too high for you to go anywhere. But we hadn’t learned that yet. This was our very first day, and our very first high tide.
And so, after lunch, we hiked on. We came across this neat alcove, a little dimple of rocks and vegetation on an otherwise sheer, rocky, shoreline. It was neat, but we hiked past it, with me in the lead, trying to get to the next beach. But when I turned the next corner, not far from the alcove, I saw that it was too late to keep going. The tide had already risen to block our path to the next beach. That cute little alcove was going to be our home until the tide went down again.
At first, we struggled. Ambrose more than I. He scrabbled at the walls of our ‘prison’ trying to climb up to what looked like a trail about twenty feet above our heads. I thought I could see a trail up there, but the sides of our alcove were simply too steep for us to climb, too muddy and slick with vegetation.
After a while, I sat and watched the waves, trying to stay in the sun so I’d be warm despite sitting on a cold rock. He continued to try and climb. To force his way out of this situation that we’d found ourselves in. He had a manic energy, an intensely fierce will to find a way forward.
At one point, he got nearly ten feet up. He had hope, for one shining moment, and then he slid down and nearly hurt himself.
And that’s when enough was enough. No getting injured on day 1!
We were well and truly stuck for the duration of the tide. There was no way for us to get out of the alcove. All we could do was watch the water slowly rise, and hope that it would not rise so high that we would be engulfed.
The waves sparkled in the afternoon sunlight as if gilded with lightning. A curious seal popped up to check us out. We watched birds and absorbed the sounds and smells of the ocean. We sat next to each other, sharing warmth and exclaiming when we saw something that the other should look at.
We submitted ourselves to the experience, because we had no choice but to do just that.
Sometimes, when it feels like there is no choice but to do something that you desperately don’t want to do, you can gain some measure of control and agency by choosing to do what you have to do anyway. Embracing the submission to those external forces that you cannot resist, regardless of how hard you try to find another path.
I am on a journey of grief. I am in this little alcove until the tide of grief subsides, and there is no clock counting down that time. Scrabbling at the walls won’t make it go any faster; it will just wear me out faster, and interfere with healing. So I have to ask myself if I have the strength to embrace this. If I can submit myself to this experience, and maybe start to appreciate the uniquely beautiful things that I can see from my alcove.