A Guest Post from Michael Erving
For the first time since the security line at SeaTac, I was alone.
I was adrift between continents, floating on the passage Hercules made thousands and thousands of years ago. Ships passed by, the deep green of the ocean bubbled and churned as the bow pressed into the much-larger-than-expected swells of the Mediterranean.
I took a few photos and then gave up on trying to capture it all. I decided that letting the muggy wind whistle in my ears would be a much better image than my camera could ever capture.
I had the blue deck to myself for a while, and the best way I found to savor every inch of it was to stay put and feel very, very small.
Insignificance is something I value, but don’t seek nearly enough. To feel small is to feel your rightful place in the Divine Grand Scheme of Things. Sometimes feeling small is simple: getting lost in the eyes of someone you love, going on a hike, or trying to walk somewhere instead of drive there. Sometimes though, it takes something like crossing the Strait of Gibraltar on a ferry to do the trick.
Regardless, sailing the Strait was one of those silently profound moments in my life. It’s something I hope to never lose the gravity of, and an event that I hope to repeat.