Waves

Happy Sunday, my dudes. As the weather changes and we spend more time near the sea, I find myself meditating more and more. One of my favourite forms of meditation is staring out at the sea. There’s something beautiful about watching a force of nature smash into rock and dissipate—the sound, the salty smell, the motion of it all.

That got me thinking about waves. And how life comes in them. We all go through them: sometimes high and positive, sometimes low and destructive. That’s life—a series of waves we have to get through. It’s easy to recognize once you pay attention, once you notice patterns. That highs and lows come and go, and all we have to do is ride them.

And somewhere between the crashing and the calm, I realized it's the same with us.

I used to think life was meant to be steady. Just a slow upward climb towards peace—achieving milestones and progressing until you reach some magic peak where you finally look back and say, "Yes, okay, that’s it. Now I have reached the point I can stop trying."

But that was before I noticed that it’s really just a series of waves.

And waves don’t really ask for permission. A lot of the time, we barely even have control over when they come and go. They rise, they crash, they pull you under or shoot you up. And the worst part is that sometimes you barely even realize you’re going through one—until you’re drowning.

Right now, I’m in it. Some days I can barely get out of bed. Other days I say yes to every plan and regret it until I walk out the door. Some days I stare at my phone, scrolling mindlessly to find a meme that will make me chuckle. Trying my very best to just ride it out until it lands me safely back on shore. Some days I am able to float. Other days I am flailing, trying to find a lifeline.

I used to try to plan my way out of every situation. Overthink every feeling, emotion, try to have exit plans, try to have plan B's for scenarios that would never even happen. But the wave doesn't care about logic. It just wants to move through you.

And every now and then I remember:

You’re not supposed to steer the wave—just ride it.

People love to say that. But it’s easier said than done. They don’t talk about how difficult that is. How exhausting it is to go through some waves. How your breath runs short and your arms get tired. How the calm isn’t always peaceful—it’s just quiet enough to hear your own panic echoing back.

But the wave isn’t the enemy. It’s the proof you’re still alive. Still feeling. Still moving. Sometimes, the feeling takes over, and all you can do is hold on—letting yourself go and trusting it will lead you to calmer seas. When you stop fighting the current—not give up, just stop flailing—that’s when the wave shifts.

That’s when you float.

That’s when you find rhythm.

That’s when you realize:

The wave won’t kill you. But fighting it might.

So for now, if you’re going through one of these waves like I am—ride it. With shaky legs and short breath. With no clue where the wave is going to take you. Ride it.

You won't be in the water forever.

Sometimes, all you need is one thing to hold onto -

a voice, a walk, a view, a song.

Something small.

Something human.

Something that reminds you:

You've survived waves before.

And you will again.

The shore always comes.

Talk soon - matt