I’m floating in a sea. The water surrounding me is gently ebbing, and flowing, making me bob up and down. I am cold, but I am okay. There is a dark blue sky above me with clouds gliding slowly past like the strokes of a large, frayed paint brush. On the horizon there is a faint, blinking light above what looks like a dark mass of land. It is far away, but I am okay. For a moment.

Eventually, the small hills of water that brush my shoulders start to grow. They carry me to the left and then to the right. I am worried about where they will take me. I feel an urge to swim toward the blinking light on the dark mass of land. I try kicking my legs behind me and grasping at the water in front of me to move forward but the small hills of water are now turning into waves.

As I flail my arms above my head to try to steady myself, the water splashes and sprays in my face, temporarily blocking my vision. The breath leaves my body as I fight to keep my head above water. I picture the flashing light again and start to kick my legs and flail my arms harder. I know I can get to the light. I’ve been there before.

The once miniscule hills of water soon turn into crashing waves that pull me under and fling me back into the air over and over. I’m drowning, but I hold on to the thought of the blinking light. The wave tosses me up into the air and for a split second, time slows down. As I fly into the air, I look straight into the light. On my way down I think to myself “You’re okay” and close my eyes.

I open my eyes, and I am in a class room. My professor is standing next to the smeared whiteboard giving a lecture, and all of my fellow students are listening intently. They don’t realize that I was just drowning in a sea of my own nervousness. They didn’t see the blinking light. I look down at my hands and realize that I’m picking at my nails and that the skin around them is red and irritated. My eyes venture further down and see my foot tapping, seemingly on its own. I don’t know how I got here, but I am okay.