"Golden Opportunity" © Steve Henderson
It starts with a love of the sea.
Not everyone shares this love, but if you have it, it's unlikely that it's a mild affection. It's usually a lifelong love affair -- the kind that you're hopeless to try to escape from, that tugs you back again and again like the constant tide to its briny embrace, tempting you with moist salty kisses. You always seem to find your way back to that wild tangled tumult of wave and froth and spray.
For me, that inexplicable pull that guides me back to the ocean is a herculean current. Once it calls you in, you're caught in its clutches, trapped in fisherman's nets. There's something about the great expanse of the sea that fills you with that same rush of energy that you get when a thunderstorm rages above in the sky. It wakes up some slumbering part of you, speaks to it -- reminds you that life is constantly calling to you. It fills you with a sense of aliveness and intensity that is not found in everyday life.
For some, that immense expanse of water that stretches into infinity is a siren that sings songs of adventure, beckoning us to explore. As humans, we have an innate desire to discover what's beyond the horizon. What's out there, past the line of what we can see? What will we find when we take a chance and find out?
Does the sea speak to you in the same way, whispering sweet nothings in your ear of possibility and dreams? Do you feel compelled to find your ocean vessel and guide her into the depths of the unknown, guided by hope and the heavens above? What songs will they sing of your story?
I don't know about you, but I love being reminded of that feeling of adventure, surrounding myself with the beauty of that world. I can't spend every day at water's edge, with the waves and sand between my toes, but I can look at art that reminds me of it, and be transported there in an instant. There is something so exciting about the silhouette of a ship on the horizon, setting its sights on the unknown. It reminds me of life -- I can set my sails and use my compass as a guide, but ultimately I have no idea where the ocean will take me next. That is the joy of the journey.