Escaping the static…

She was a creature of habit. And those close to her knew that when she was frustrated or needed to escape the static and think she could be found lowering her grandfather’s wooden rowboat down into the water of the bay’s narrow inlet.

This particular day she relied on reflex to lower the boat, as her mind was elsewhere. She settled in the center, squaring her shoulders and facing the stern, and began rowing. The oars caught the water, propelling the small boat closer to the open mouth of the ocean. Second nature, her movements flowed—back, front, back, front—exhaling frustrations and gaining speed.

Dark clouds hung low on the horizon. Trapped inside her head, her focus was on the constant back and forth of her thoughts—lightning synapses firing—diversions to one another.

She continued, rhythmically rowing. Back, front, back, front. The rain began to fall…streams of water running down her face, down her forearms tightly grasping the oars. It did not slow her actions but it proved to be the distraction she needed.

She looked up for the first time as the sun slowly made its exit. There was no land in sight. As the darkness enveloped the space around her, she surrendered to the rocking of the ocean. The only sound was that of the waves hitting the side of the boat followed by a silence like she had never heard before. A silence that became a steady hum in her ears—a hum so loud she couldn’t think.