Waves Are Not Separate From the Sea

People tend to see themselves as something finished, something complete.

“I am I. You are you.”

The boundary seems obvious. Still, I find myself wondering if it really is.

Watching the ocean, I notice that no two waves take the same shape. Some rise high before breaking. Others fade quietly back into the surface. None of them repeat.

And yet a wave is never separate from the sea.

Most of the time, we only see the wave. We compare ourselves to others, get hurt, seek approval, and defend the outline of who we think we are. In a sense, we spend our lives watching the shape of the wave and little else.

That suffering is real. Failure brings us down. Losing someone we love brings grief. There is no need to deny any of it.

But does what happens to us really touch all of who we are?

Something strange happens when I draw.

I start out trying to draw well. Somewhere in the process, though, the sense that I am making something begins to thin out.

Charcoal does not erase easily once it is laid down. Black over black, lifted, layered again. Somewhere inside that repetition, an expression appears that I cannot fully account for through intention alone.

In that moment, I am not in control of the piece. It feels closer to discovering something together with it.

This is why I no longer believe a work comes from my effort alone.

The paper. The charcoal. The person sitting across from me. Everyone I have met along the way. Every landscape I have seen. Every feeling that never found words. If even one of these were missing, this particular drawing would not exist.

Seen this way, the self might be far more open than I once assumed.

Meeting someone may not be about filling some lack in ourselves. It may be about noticing something that was already flowing inside us.

And parting may not mean losing something completely. It may simply mean the shape has changed.

There are days I can believe this.

That belief does not make the sadness disappear.

Still, sensing that something remains even as its shape changes offers a small kind of peace.

We do not need to become something extraordinary. We do not need to be a wave greater than any other.

Hesitating, pausing, sometimes carried along without resistance, simply tasting this moment as it passes. That alone may be enough to call a life meaningful.

I keep searching for that answer too, one layer of charcoal at a time.

I want these drawings and words to travel openly, and to reach the people who may need them.

If something here resonates with you, a paid subscription helps me continue making work, writing honestly, and keeping this space alive.

Thank you for reading.

Subscribe

Share