I went to bed last night and found a pair of flippers on my pillow.
Beckett had been digging into our snorkeling gear, which was packed away in a suitcase behind our bed on some shelves. We have a fancy shelving unit back there, behind some curtains, and it’s all very Elle Decor. The flippers left a few grains of sand behind on my pillow, and I rolled them between my fingers completely awestruck. Hawaii sand. Maui sand unintentionally brought home 7 years ago from the best vacation of my dumb little life.
Christian and I discovered snorkeling and fell madly in love. He had tried it once in a previous life and couldn’t find his groove with it, but we both practiced in the pool at our condo until we felt adequately prepared to try the ocean. We had done our internet homework, seeking out the prime snorkeling locations- blah, blah and blah. We took a 1/2 day snorkel boat trip to Molokini where we saw, besides the fish, a baby shark and sea turtles the size of the moon.
How can you compare anything to the absolute lack of sound, where your adrenaline is pouring through every cavity in your body and puffer fish find you fascinating. Repeatedly. And they smile; pufferfish smile and schools of fish in colors reserved for 80’s clothing hover just out of reach.
photo by sfllaw
All we did that vacation was drink Mai Tai’s and snorkel. (Not simultaneously) (C was still drinking back then.) Have you ever been so immediately and thoroughly taken with something that your life is forever altered? That’s what snorkeling did for us. I imagine it’s like the adrenaline rush extreme sports lovers get, but it’s the version reserved for people who opt for quiet beauty.
I yearn for the day when we can go again, and I can picture us scuba diving and opting to never come back up again. I’m all for building a house at the bottom of the ocean.