The Rogue Wave
I was supposed to launch the day I left for Oahu. But I didn’t. I was supposed to launch the following Tuesday, but by the time that day came around, our lives began to take massive shifts. Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. I want to come out and talk about my eating disorder. I want to start from the very beginning. I want to bring awareness. I want to continue the dialogue of eating disorders amongst women, athletes and ultimately figure skaters. But now? It’s a heavy time right now. It’s so heavy. It’s like there’s this load that’s falling on all of our shoulders that is difficult to hold, and we can’t bear to surround ourselves with anything that resembles a weight. I can’t put that on you because I don’t think I have it in me to be vulnerable in that way. I don’t think I have it in me to show a part of myself that has taken years to come out of the shadows. She still lurks there, and wants to stay there when things are tough.
But I still want to write. We all crave each other’s stories, and for most of us, the only way we can get them is through a computer screen. As we lose our jobs or work from home, confined to our four little walls, there’s a lot of free time. There’s a lot of time to create. If I don’t create now, if I don’t start in this moment in history, then what’s the purpose of all of this? We have to give this thing some light, right? I say this, and a part of me is rolling my eyes. I’m having trouble with that. The light. With so much uncertainty gnawing at our heels, I feel like it’s something that I should be saying because some spiritual teacher said, “There needs to be more love where there’s fear.”-- I’m having trouble leaning into that myself.
I don’t need to write the laws of gravity like Sir Isaac Newton did when he was in isolation from some plague, but I can write something. Even if no one reads it, even if it has nothing to do what I entailed my original message to include, even if it’s awful and not my best work—I’ll still write. I’ll adapt and be malleable and change my plans because that’s what we are supposed to do. We were rooted, grounded maybe, in our lives, our jobs, our patterns. Perfectly scheduled. But now we have to be water. We have to flow with whatever comes our way, even though it’s this insane rogue wave coming at us, and we are caught on the inside. I’m sorry, but surfing lingo translates to everything in life. The point is, I have 3 essays written and ready to be shared about my skating, why I stopped and ultimately my eating disorder. I feel like now is not the time for that. But I need you now. And maybe you need me. So here we are.
I cried in my room today, on my yoga mat, as I took an online version of “The Class”—a popular mainland workout designed to be challenging, cathartic and heart-centered. It is meant to split you wide the fuck open. I needed to be split wide the fuck open. Numb is a familiar feeling that has made a comeback, but numb doesn’t mean not feeling. It tingles. My denial is real, and it blocks my awareness. Let’s call it “tingling unawareness”. My body and mind are protecting me from the gravity of this situation. So, I wanted to take the scissors of the coat of armor blocking me from feeling this. Whatever this is. I danced in my pajamas with my long hair flying, leaving a few strands glued to my neck as they drenched in my sweat and tears. My heart thumped loudly in my chest, allowed some grace to seep in, and I was grateful to be well. I jumped around with my eyes closed faced towards the ceiling, I let the fear take over. I cried because I have no idea and no control over what’s happening. I cried because the wind was picking up, the rain was dumping and thunder roared from a distance.
The storm. I’ve been off of work since Monday, not because of the virus. Kauai is dealing with heavy weather and consequential flooding. Do you know what happened today? In the midst of all the chaos, since Hawaii is still on “island time” and Kauai is a few steps behind the rest of the mainland, I still went to work. I imagine there will only be a few days left, and please spare me the opinions because that’s not what we need right now. My opinion may agree with yours but survival is survival—and survival means rent when it’s past due. I glanced down at my phone through the purple “sanitary” gloves I was wearing—that really don’t do much—and saw a text message. “Warning from the County of Kauai… severe thunderstorms..” My eyeballs went back and forth to absorb what I was reading, but I don’t remember because all I really saw was this: “get out of Hanalei as soon as possible. Avoid the North Shore. They will be closing the bridge soon.” As the heat rushed to my face, my anxiety about life was pummeled by my anxiety about our island and the weather. It was layers of anxiety, but weather won the anxiety contest in my head. Hanalei was already fragile from the few days of flooding, and I’m not sure if it can take much more. Luckily, it was a false alarm and radars can never really predict the ever changing tropics we live in. But Kauai speaks. I hear her. She is fragile just like us.
I was home safe, with my candles out, just in case the power went out. That’s when I decided it was time to move this out of me. I danced on my yoga mat for the insane day I had, even if it was all made up stories and future tripping in my head.
Everyday things are changing on Kauai. I’ll likely be applying for unemployment for the first time in my life. I would not doubt if all incoming flights were put to a halt, and there will be no rental Jeeps on the road. There will be no lines. I can bet we will be outside, but away from each other. We will be in the salt water because it disinfects our souls from the grime that anxiety causes. We’ll laugh at the rogue waves that come, because they do, and maybe get held under for a second longer than what’s comfortable. We’ll come up to the surface, and soon we will be able to breathe. Water is the feeling that I need. I must flow. I must adapt. And by “me”, I mean “we.” Because something tells me, you might feel the same way too.
