The sail screams,

begging me to stop it from being stolen by the wind.

I oblige, reining it in with all my might.

Now it begs to be free, to be filled with the wind.

I give it some freedom, but not so much that it can run away.

The sail is like a child.

It doesn’t know what it wants.

It longs for planned spontaneity,

organized chaos,

peaceful adventure.

The ocean is also full of these inconsistencies.

But where the sail wants for these things,

the ocean possesses them.

All of these contradictions pile up,

one over the other,

cancelling each other out.

All that is left is me,

hastily but confidently moving from one end of my “ship” to the other,

sailing smoothly over the choppy waves.

Wind and waves push me along,

taking me where they please.

For now, I do not wrestle the current.

I will get where I want to be in time.

The ocean has its own sense of time.

I must convince it to let me move at my own pace.

Sometimes it will fight me.

Sometimes the weather will hinder my progress.

But wherever I end up,

no matter how long it takes me,

it will be the ocean that gets me there.

For this, I give thanks daily.

I thank the ocean for allowing the likes of me upon its waters.

I thank it for the adventures it gives me.

I thank it for the peace it puts in my heart.