thoughts while on a doctor-ordered ocean retreat.
Baby adult tantrum sponsored by the ocean, the yellow wallpaper and too much succession.
I was 22 when I wrote this and 23 when I went back to edit. Shoutout to me for the ongoing collaboration.
I wonder if Charlotte Gilman knew that I would think of ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’ every time I was in close vicinity to a body of water. The semi-autobiographical novel is many things but a memory 14-year-old me will always have will be reading her words - ironically - on yellow stained printed paper; and of course, because you are in a class of children who are bred to be overachievers and reek with the need for academic validation the room bursts to life and … I digress – more on that another time. For those who haven’t read it no stress, I am about to summarise it in one sentence. An unreliable narrator who is sent to the sea as a cure for her postnatal psychosis. Now that is a very ABC explanation, please go read it! Literacy is at an all-time low and children have been left behind to write tik tok comments with their primary source being the Instagram infographic of a ‘Canva’ bedroom graphic designer (no hate).
Anyway lakes, oceans, rivers, and, with a more modern lens, infinity pools are all great examples of natural and unnatural bodies of water. The concept of seeking out these places isn’t new; water has proven in my case to unlock a new level of introspection. It’s been played upon in so many different forms of media and my favourite since twenty-twenty-two was brought to me through my one and only water boy – Kendall Roy. I mean I can make this a thesis on pop culture + water themes but again time and place, trust me this will be another post, when? Who knows.
Summer twenty-twenty-four I answered the call to the ocean as I, like Kendall from Succession and Jane from The Yellow Wallpaper, found myself in a crisis comparably not nearly as tragic or as a result of being the heir of a billion-dollar media conglomerate. Last minute tickets were booked, flights were boarded, and I sprinted to my self-prescribed retreat. You see in my case I was in a bit of a self-imposed rut, newly experiencing post grad life with my life checklist complete and no additional bullet points, I was angsty for a direction. ‘Option One’ to live, laugh, girl boss in a 2014 millennial way or opt for ‘Option Two’ succumb to the former gifted and talented disease and live from the high that was adults telling you that you will be extraordinary at the age of 9. To save you the deliberation both are terrible and honestly personal weapons formed against me and my mental wellbeing - a more appealing option came to realisation when I stared out into the Atlantic.
‘Ophelia’ by Sir John Everett Millais (1851-52)
To my friends who have had the misfortune of hearing the next sentence a minimum of 20 times face to face, sorry.
My 22nd year of life has been a weird one. There really isn’t a better word to define the last 7 months, I have never felt this directionless. Maybe I’m hyperbolising, in the way I have a tendency to do, but I really believed I was immune to the stereotype of the post grad scaries. I knew formally finishing my path in education meant the beginning of a new chapter in my life because it was the last bullet point of my multi-year plan and then everything else was just the extra that I didn’t think about. I could not have predicted the almost paralysing thoughts that this unspoken extra would give me, my stream of consciousness was my own personal cage, all my thoughts revolved around if’s and maybe’s with no real end realisation. I’m no crier (actually the biggest) but the seemingly endless ‘?’ really made me question a lot of things and mainly myself. I hate the feeling of not being sure. All of this came to me as I stared at the waves rolling into each other – I was another statistic. I could talk about the matrix, red pill blue pill or the butterfly effect; however, I fear that this post will just end up being full of pop culture references that I would have to explain. So, I will follow with this.
My focus was to just go through the motions. My career choice, what I always planned to be doing, slowly became something to deflect my uncertain emotions towards. I hated that I loved my job, I would get shy when a stranger would ask me what I did because my job was not part of the extra which I still had not figured out and was ignoring - the question was just a reminder that I loved was becoming part of the mundane I wanted a way out of. I love thinking about myself (I say this with a humble heart and spirit) but even more I love thinking about the possibilities of what I can do or become. Okay bear with me for the next couple sentences because I am about to get metaphorical and will also struggle to bear with myself. Despite having just described my turmoil, when I looked out into the waters the quiet of hum of life whispered through me, every wave became an embodiment of things to come and things that have passed. I am not inevitable. Life is. It will keep marching through regardless of how I try to rein it, I am not in control of when or where or how the next wave will form but I can choose where I cause the ripples or where to splash. Okay… Not sure if you are still with me but if you catch my drift (*drums*) my third options brought to me a drive I had forgotten and a familiar, refurbished focus to try make every day a good day while I figured out which way to go. I was determined to not just let life happen the way it wanted I was in control of the experience, a boring day is only that way because of me. The third option was to live and remain curious to the unknown, I didn’t have to figure out the direction because the one thing I was certain of was my feet will take me to wherever ‘there’ was, In the meantime I should just focus on the playlist and the outfit I would wear on the journey.
This is a lot of woe is me, champagne problems. Thankfully no yellow wallpaper was clawed out during this. I apologise Jane for assuming I understand the struggles, but I see why you were prescribed a sea side retreat.
