7:05am. The sun begins to climb over the jagged peaks of Abalone Cove.
“Jump!”
The word reverberates in the still air, as I leap from the rocks and plunge into the churning waters of the Pacific Ocean. Adrenaline rushes through me as millions of icy needles sting my exposed flesh. For an eternity, a penetrating sense of blue surrounds me, before my lungs strain and I break the surface. Seaweed-like hair sticks to my face and I expel the water from my mouth. The taste of salt is overwhelming.
Now comes the hard part. “Swim!” I hear Katie yell and I barely understand her, the waves are deafening. My limbs struggle to acclimate to the tug of water, the cold that seems to penetrate my bones. I swim frantically, knowing the ocean’s capacity for cruelty. The salt stings my eyes as I struggle against the pull of the current. Fumbling, my finers grasp the smooth, slippery rock and I haul myself up over the ledge. I collapse, drained but ecstatic. Katie offers me a hand and I gladly take it. She smiles, beckoning towards the rocky expanse before us.
The tide pools teem with hermit crabs, urchins, and sea anemone. Sunlight reflects off the undisturbed water. While exploring, I think less about the anxiety of slipping and more about the exhilaration of leaping. I leave feeling utterly alive, knowing that I have to embrace the risk of slipping in order to dive into the vast ocean of opportunity.
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