I’m sitting on my stand-up paddle board about 100 feet from the shore of Rocky Point. I can see the speckle of a wife on one side and the vast ocean on the other. One is much more inviting than the other. Let’s do this, I think, twisting my wedding ring nervously. I get onto my knees and start to shift my overweight body onto my feet so I can stand. As I do so, I see the board curve with pressure and feel it wobble, unbalanced.
I fall into the ocean and immediate fear overcomes me. Fear of what? Losing a leg to the nonexistent sharks? Losing my life to the depths of the ocean? Losing my naivete of the grand ocean? It’s hard to believe only 1% of the ocean is explored. What else is down there?
When I’m back on the board, the fear flushes like a toilet, but anxiety clogs it up again. Anxious, I go to twist my ring—but it’s gone! I’ve lost my wedding ring on my fifth anniversary. But I feel calmer, relaxed. Like weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Like if I have nothing to twist, I have nothing to twist for. Maybe I can try to stand now, I think.
Why do I feel this way? Five years of a strong, good, perfect marriage… Why is it all tied to this ring? I think about the meaning of marriage and what my brother said to me when I proposed at nineteen. “You know marriages stop the exploration of yourself, right? You have to explore another person now.” At nineteen, I hadn’t even begun to explore myself.
Does my wife mean anything to me without a piece of metal holding us together? I can’t even remember my wedding day. I remember the fights, the screaming and yelling, the nights alone… but my wife and I were meant to be together, ever since we were kids. That’s what everybody said, anyway.
As I start to think about paddling back to shore, I notice that I’ve drifted about fifty feet to the south. I’ll have to get out and walk back, carrying the heavy board. I make the decision with no temptation to twist my ring. For the first time in five years, I feel unattached and free.
Does this mean that I should just run with that feeling? Or does it mean that I’m nothing without my wife? I look out at the sea, then to my wife, and make my decision. I keep paddling south, away from my whole life. Even if sharks lie ahead, I would rather be eaten alive than have something eat at me from within.
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