The swimmer has been swimming around for a long time. Well, not really swimming. More like treading water. The water is nice so he won’t complain but often he gets tired of being in the sea. He can see some people on the shoreline happily throwing frisbee. Others fish timelessly on the dock with an unconcerned rod in the water. Sometimes he dreams of a nice comfy raft and umbrella drink. A change of horizon would be nice. But for now he’s in the water. He has to keep swimming.

There’s activity all around. Lots to distract his thoughts. Jet skiers buzz by annoyingly loud. Grinning surfers paddle past airheadedly. Dreamy yachts in the distance drift. Younger swimmers sometimes stop and ask if he’s ok. Not too long ago he saw a bloated dead body with a sea gull standing on it. Everything is finite. He knows. But he keep swimming. His legs are strong. His heart is strong. He kicks his feet and waves his arms like wings.

Sharks dart by now and then. Playful or scary. They bump his legs sometimes. Their skin feels like sandpaper. He knows at any moment one can take a chunk out of him. If he swims in circles for too long he knows they’ll get bored and hungry. They bit him once years ago to make it clear that he was simply a dinner guest in their ocean. A warning bite. The scar has since healed but they can’t be trusted. He is prepared to punch for their eyes first if the time comes.

Now and then clouds rumble in the distance. The sun ducks out to make room for the storm. The water gets and gives chills. The randomized surf karate chops his face. He gets numb and wonders if he should wave for help. The sea heaves. He makes sure not to gulp. Then things calm down again. He rides out the storm until the sun warms his face and he regains strength.

But the time has come to start heading toward something. He will focus on a direction. Any one direction will do. Toward a nearby boat. Toward the dock. Toward the island way off in the distance. Toward the rocks even. Or maybe just straight out to sea to try and hitch a ride in the shipping lanes. He imagines being hiked aboard and traveling off to an exotic land where the shippers hail. He’ll go any place but back to the shore. Not after all this time.

Today is the day he stops treading water and starts swimming toward destination. No longer will he simply admire his own ability to avoid drowning. No more will he let the tides control him to and fro. No longer can he burn days watching what other people do in the ocean. He knows he’ll never be a surfer. The sharks are looking increasingly bored. He assumes a direction to be true– takes a deep breath and starts to crawl.

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