Journal Entry
The first time I crossed the Northwind, I believed experience was enough.
The sea taught me otherwise.
It stripped certainty from my hands long before it threatened the ship beneath my feet.
Since then, I have returned many times.
Never to challenge it.
Only to listen.
The water always looked different.
The wind never spoke the same language twice.
Yet every voyage left something behind.
Not treasure.
Not glory.
Perspective.
Along distant shores I gathered salt unlike any I had known before.
One carried the quiet strength of ancient stone.
Another disappeared as gently as the tide itself.
The last reminded me that even the roughest waters leave something worth carrying home.
Alone, each told only part of the story.
Together, they spoke of the sea more honestly than any one ever could.
People often call the sea beautiful.
Others call it cruel.
I have found it to be neither.
The sea simply reminds us that the world is under no obligation to bend to our plans.
Perhaps that is why I continue to return.
Not to master the water...
...but to remember my place within it.
The sea has never cared that I returned.
I am simply grateful that it allowed me to.