The day we arrived there was a green flag.

Calm water with little wind was ideal for an ocean swim.

But the next day, was a red flag. The waves lurched in agitation, foaming at the mouth, crashing into each other, and reaching the top of the sandy beach threatening to steal beach chairs.

So of course… we decided to swim.

It would be more accurate to say Husband decided to challenge the waves to a duel. Purposefully diving head first into the cresting wave, he intentionally and playing did a flip. Landed. And laughed. Smiling ear to ear at his temporary (and likely singular) success.

Not having much say in the matter, I followed, sans flip, and was able to swim out far enough to float to and fro with the waves, before they crested. Like Husband, I felt as though I had won. I had found a good spot and was preparing for a float.

I was incorrect. It was not a good spot.

Turns out you can’t tell the ocean where its waves can and cannot crest.

And as a non-surfer my predictive skills and wave positioning are sub par. The float was short lived. With each wave that tried to smack some sense into us, we were launched toward shore, filled with laughter, sand in my hair, hair in my eyes, and the determination to swim back out and try again.

We laughed and flailed, swam again, stood firm, and failed. Each time our momentary footing gave in to false security and gave way to being slapped in the face by a salty imitation margarita.

After several rounds of battle, and an unexpected work out, we retreated.

Husband would tell you, we fought the ocean and we won. I agree that we definitely lived to fight another day, but a boxer surviving a round is not the same as winning the round.

At best it was a draw.

In reality we surrendered.

We exchanged the red flag, for a white one.

Lessons surround us. Sometimes they are packaged up in one of God’s most powerful, beautiful, and dangerous creations.

3 Lessons

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Learn from the success of others.

We were not the only people who chose to defy the red flag and venture into the waves. Prior to Husband’s head first approach into the most tumultuous stretch of the swim area, there were other couples successfully, calmly, and enjoyably… floating.

• Did we enter the water where they did? Nope.
• Did we swim out to the same section that they did? Nope.
• Did they appear to run away from the water in surrender and retreat? Nope.

Sometimes the harder path can mean more reward for the greater risk. It can mean new memories and tough lessons that stick (like the sand that is still in every crevice).

The easier path was illustrated by more than one successful example to learn from and replicate. We chose the harder path.

And if I pair the two together, tomorrow I will make a different choice.

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Don’t swim next to the rope of buoys.

The ocean tried to clothesline me.

A massive wave crested over my head, pushed me under, threw me forward and pulled me back. Right into something that is meant to protect swimmers. Thanks for the irony, Ocean. I defied the red flag and you reminded me why it’s there. Using the buoys as your right hook, that last blow made me decide to get out of the ring and surrender.

Buoys can be a source of safety and security.

They tell the boats where not to go so they don’t hit people who are swimming. They tell people where to stay to avoid reefs and rocks. But on a red flag day, the rope of buoys will not protect you.

The threat is different.

They serve a different purpose. What should help me, tried to clothesline me. Taken out of context and used for the wrong purpose, misplaced precautions can produce other negative consequences (and a little bit of rope burn).

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The ocean has more stamina than you.

I am not afraid of the ocean. But I know what it can do.

In my decision to defy the red flag, every wave that smacked the back of my head reminded me I was not in control and I was not in charge. Every time I drank a little salt water, lost my footing, or kicked an unsuspecting rock, I was reminded that I was not more powerful than the currents surrounding me.

I am strong. I am capable. But in the end, the ocean will have more energy, more strength, and more stamina than me. As some point, I will have to tag out, and the waves will continue to roll on… with or without me.

Knowing how powerful and unrelenting the ocean is (alongside its beauty) should impact how I view it and choose to interact with it. Cautiously, not recklessly. Appropriately, not disrespectfully. In American culture you might hear it phrased, “She has a healthy fear of the ocean.” It’s not a phobia type of fear. It’s not crippling panic attacks, anxiety, or avoidance.

A healthy fear recognizes your deficiencies in the midst of something else’s strengths, and responds accordingly. A healthy fear chooses humble respect, not dismissive ego.

I want to be in the ocean, near it, around it, on it. I am fascinated by it. Mesmerized by all its colors, impressed by its sounds, curious about its relationship with the moon, wondering how long it took to form the sand, imagining what lives in depths I’ll never see… and yet I’m glad I’ve never been stranded in it.

Wisdom does not treat the ocean flippantly. Drowning is an experience I’d rather avoid.

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The next morning the flag was yellow.

And I chose to swim in the calm area, with soft sand, where others had success.

That morning I didn’t fight the ocean… I danced with it.

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Thank you God for the opportunity to dance with your creation. To twirl in circles like a child with sand beneath my toes.

Thank you for the warm sun on my back and my loving husband on the beach.

Thank you for this time to rest in a beautiful place you created, with the sounds of ocean waves, the colors of the forest behind me, and the kind people that surrounded and took care of us.

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Written on Thursday & Friday January 24-25, 2024 at Hawksbill Resort in St. John’s, Antigua.