Time moves differently out here,
Time isn’t measured by hours, but by activity.
At home, time is meticulously worshipped. There are deadlines for everything.
There is always a time to wake up, to meet a friend, to go to work, to get ready for work, to have lunch, to do my BSL, to do my insulin.
Having Diabetes means that time trumps almost every other aspect in life.
While we’re yurting, time waits for us to catch up to it.
It trickles by in drabs and silences while sunscreen is applied and Zac makes his signature toilet stop. Time sits back with a coffee while tired bodies prepare for the day. Time dissects itself, separating into different halves as it rushes by for the boys in the surf and dawdles along for the sun bakers on the sand. Time is lenient, it lets us command it, and it’s only when there are no deadlines that I realize how endless a day can seem.
It’s beautiful in the sun.
The last month has been a difficult one for me, and it feels like a different life out here, with the wind rushing in through open windows and all the time in the world.
Yesterday brought about the first proper beach session for us girls, with large waves and bodyboards and the kind of water that’s so clear that the ocean becomes as transparent as it is mysterious. There’s something about being in the ocean that makes a person feel insignificant. It’s so large and raw and unforgiving. The ocean is controlled by nothing and no one, except for time. One of my favorite Poets, Sarah Kay says “There is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it is sent away”. Time rules the tides and commands its waters, and it humbles me to think that something I feel as if I’m escaping, has such a strong hold on another thing I have no hope of ever understanding.
The ocean gives me back the spark I felt I’d been missing, and gives me something to fight against, despite the fact that it’s inevitable I’ll never be able to tame the unruly waves.