Hey,

I’ve a funny relationship with the sea: terrible swimmer, ardent admirer. I don’t often get in, in what I’d consider a proper or meaningful way. I’m happy in the shallows, on the shore.

But I do sometimes go deeper. Especially when I feel in need of a certain… something. I heard Wyl Menmuir talk at an event last week and felt that something clarify when he spoke of “the sea’s great indifference”. As he sees it, we take from the sea what we need. When we need to feel small, we find it in the vast expanse. When we need to feel significant, brushing past the fronds of a seaweed reminds us of our closeness to the great, messy, soggy chain of life.

He later mentioned that we are, by birth, watery creatures. We emerge from a fluidic womb and spend a lot of our time thereafter, directly and indirectly, seeking a way back into a similar sense of blissful immersion.

There’s something so gut-wrenchingly potent about being in water. I feel it on a cellular level. When I am in the water, it and I are immiscible—our particles move differently, entirely removed from the other’s state.

If I fall on earth, I feel the impact in my bones. When I fall into water, I slip beneath its surface and become submerged in its (localised) entirety. I float. The water suspends those same bones that rattle when my solid humanity collides with loam and sand. I float. My flesh and blood and sinews stay suspended in a state of somewhere-in-between-it-all. I float.

Sliding into that boundless immersion offers sweet and stark relief from a right-angled world. There are no hard edges in the water, no uncomfortable resting of limbs on a desk or bursting argument from a toe caught on a doorframe. Soft release of supple sea.

And so I go down to the sea to seek that softness. To lose the angularity from the world and stop myself furcating. To return to the gentle ether from whence I came and will return. To find what I seek, suspended, if only for a minute or two.

Slow down guide

Need a little help moving slower?

Ease your way out of Friday afternoon with this newsletter, a nice cup of something, and a little background music. Steal my setup if you aren't sure where to start.

After I press send, I’ll be making my way up to Loafs, on Causewayhead. Breadin’ hell, these know what they’re doing with the dough. I’m thinking a cortado and a (vegan, ofc) croissant. Let’s not pretend and let’s not mess about—I’m after 20 minutes of feeling like bougie royalty.

I might just run it round in my head, I might put headphones on. We’ll check the vibe and decide from there. Whatever the medium, first on the digital decks is going to be Rhododendron by Fairhazel. Country twangs with some glitches in the mix. For fans of Andy Shauf, Bahamas, and juicy drinks under summer sunsets.

Take it easy,