Deep Waters

Once I had a job in the U.S. Navy driving a boat from where our ship was moored five miles up the Cooper River out into Charleston Harbor. Our mooring was a low, mosquito-infested lowland and was surrounded by earthen mounds holding buried nuclear missiles and torpedoes. The place produced no joy. We had to account for that ourselves, each in our own way.

I generally sought mine with much reading and mass quantities of alchohol.

Leaving the place on a mission was also a joy. I would watch the prop of my gig churning the muddy water of the Cooper as I followed the winding river toward the sea. After crossing under the two ancient bridges spanning the river, there was a point at which the prop quit churning mud and started churning foam. We had reached the sea.

Charleston harbor wasn’t clear, but it was much better than the rancid Cooper at ebb tide. When our ship sailed out of the harbor we met the clean, clear ocean. If we altered course to starboard, the seas became bluer the farther south we sailed until we came to the majestic blue, deep water of the Caribbean. The bright sparkling waters seemed to invigorate one’s soul.

Life is a bit like that. Stuck in our own self-imposed moorings, we get overwhelmed by lowland worries, concerns, and discomfiture. In all likelihood, that accounts for much of the reason we get stuck scrolling Facebook to find people that hate the same people we do. I’ve been thinking about that all morning.

As a result, I think I’m going to leave the mental lowlands and sail for the deep blue waters of life.