I’m letting a restorative wave crash over my life. One that will wash the beach clean of frustrations and angers, rid me of tension that leaves my spine stiff and sore, and will clear my mind of the endless chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter.

It’s been a long time coming.

Like waiting for a tsunami.

The warnings have been out for days, the nonstop preparations, the waiting, the waiting, the waiting. And then the sirens.

I don’t evacuate. I wish to be purged. To be changed. To be scrubbed clean by the raw power of the ocean.

And then the wave comes.

It is tall. It Is ferocious. It is just and nondiscriminating.

I am roiled in the water. Powerless. Not even flailing. Not panicking.

Just surviving one breath at a time.

And then it is over.

The beach is clean save for some interesting driftwood and a starfish.

I have a blank slate, and I can begin drawing – creating this new future – from scratch. I am both new and restored. A paradox that only the sea can explain.