Maybe it was the kid in me who’s always dreamt of being an oceanographer, or a character in Herman Melville’s books. Maybe it had to do with Jacques Cousteau and his familiar face constantly on the screen in my family home or more honestly, the fact that my dad’s family were all fishermen and I simply wanted to be a part of his stories.
I grew up in a harbour city where I spent countless mornings watching freighters, yachts, warships and fishing boats leave the harbour and return. I watched the seagulls fly and dive into the sea, searching for the next meal, and simply being a spectator, I was swallowed whole by all of it. Every fibre of my being from those days forward have been drawn to sea.
I wanted to soar, to fly the distance, see everything out there and still, be one with the sea beneath me.
Maybe that’s what causes the waves in me to rise over and over again despite the rocky bits and being hit. Maybe it’s about seeking new horizons – to explore the unknown, flow with the waters, crash into whatever comes next. Maybe the truth is, it’s the perfect reminder to let go and get swept away in all of life’s adventure.
By John Masefield
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.