Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off -- then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.--Herman Mellville, Moby Dick
I used to go down to the water early in the morning, after waiting for the bus or before grabbing breakfast - walking past the boarding houses and casinos and strip clubs and t-shirt shops to first street, then down to the little nest of slanty shanty alleys that stunk like fish. Past that, there was the water. I used to stare at it longingly while I was perusing secret comics, through the little porthole windows smeared with god-knows-what that the rain and salt water never seemed to wash off.
At the time I was looking at the blue vastness and thinking about disintegrating - diving in and being swallowed whole, becoming just another swell or surge, part of the hugeness and not me. That was a shitty time in my life, but I am glad I can kind of see now where I was back then. It's not where I'm at today, which is something for which I am grateful. I think about the ocean and the sound of seagulls and remember we're lucky we don't always get what we wish.
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