I have always preferred to live near the ocean. Somehow, this proximity brings with it a sense of comfort. Perhaps, it is knowing that there is an entire body of water of possibility should I need a place of escape. My escape plan never really materialized beyond this knowing. The ocean being near was comfort enough for my restless spirit.
And restless I continue to be.
Perhaps, this recent wave of hormonal torture is connected to my relationship with the sea.
The sea has always been an escape, or at least the possibility of one. I have entertained many different ideas of what motherhood might be like. They range from romantic allusions of utopia to sleepless nights, extreme exhaustion, and my ukulele gathering dust in a corner. I have the feeling the latter is the closest to reality.
So, in this scenario, I imagine two possible translations:
One if by land = motherhood.
Two if by sea = life of my own.
I nearly claimed motherhood a few years ago. I wonder if it may have been in search of the sea, an escape from my life as it was at the time.
Therein lies another translation, though I imagine having children to escape from reality creates a long-term need for another escape plan.
Something I have learned these past few stormy years on my own is that one should not procreate just to procreate. It is a long-lasting life task, one that a friend likened to a strange form of self-induced slavery, with parent as slave and child as master.
“Good thing kids are really cute,” he said.
No easy feat to raise a child, even a cute one, and I have no romantic allusions after having witnessed so many friends go through years of sleepless nights.
For now, I continue to waver on my own biological pendulum.