In early summer, the water on the ocean's shore still gets cold at night even when it's warm by day. That first became evident to me just last night, when I chanced a dip of my toes into the water around midnight. I recoiled at what seemed to be liquid daggers.

Nevertheless, I thought, it was something I was going to have to get used to on my journey. The rather limited funds I had accumulated in my time as a college student had enabled me to buy a simple row boat, but even the fastest of marine vessels weren't quick enough to make my journey before another night was to arrive. No, this trip would take days upon days, and in fact, I wasn't sure I would be able to make it in my small craft.

But having come so far, I wasn't apt to let petty hesitation thwart my well-laid plans.

A gust of sea-bound wind whipped at the shirt on my back, signaling that it was time to set out on the waters. I waded waist deep into the water, which I knew would be crystal clear in daylight but now only reflected faint light from the moon and condominiums, and hoisted myself up into the boat. I let out a howl that carried itself to the ocean, a way to signify the magnitude of what I was to do, and the world seemed not to notice aside from a light flipping on in one of the condominiums.

Facing the shore as I started to row, I might have contemplated all that I was leaving behind in pursuit of something that could only be referred to as foolhardy. As it was, my mind was only on my destination and the fact that I had only this short-sleeved shirt and shorts to protect me against the night.

Now

Now, I am laying back in the boat and taking a break from rowing. According to my watch, it's midday, and though I have much further to go I have made significant progress. I can no longer make out but the distant shadow of the shoreline, where thousands of people milled about on vacation, unaware of the great journey that had begun on their shores. All the same, they likely would not have been all too impressed.

It is, after all, one of the great mysteries of life that the things individuals find all-important can be utterly meaningless to the next person.

Bathing in the sun, I lie back, grab a few crackers, and peel the top from a can of SPAM. Though rations are limited, I will need some sort of fuel to move forward on this journey, much as I want to believe that my burning motivation will suffice.

Then

Considerably lighter and ravenously hungry, the seventh day was not a pleasant one. The eighth, I must confess, was altogether worse.

A once-beautiful day turned on a dime, blue skies giving way to towering, dark grey clouds endowed with the weight of what seemed to be a whole other ocean. As though it were an obelisk in my path, the storm pushed me back and battered my minuscule boat. Waves operated as though they were sentinels posted to deny my arrival, and it was an utter miracle that I didn't capsize.

The grace was not all that magnanimous, however, as the constant rocking of the boat led to the loss of nearly all my remaining rations (but for a bag of clementines).

Even though an escape with my life was certainly a strong argument of the "glass half-full variety," I was now without any significant food source, utterly unaware of how far I had to go. Many had made the journey, but none had returned.

Still, at this point, I likely didn't have enough sustenance to sustain me back to shore; forward, then, was my only option.

In Conclusion

By the time I reached the edge of the earth, I had given up on my goal. I was so ecstatic, then, to arrive at that point, that I forgot about my hunger and the crackers I was presently munching on and looked up. There was a magnificent waterfall, illuminated by the glimmer of some fiery play on Aurora Borealis.

I was ready to go over the edge. Before careening down, I looked over the precipice and saw something strange, something distant that nonetheless seemed to be looking up at me with steely resolve. At the instant I began to plummet, my heart followed suit, and I registered in those fractions of seconds that what I had run to the end of the world to avoid was, in fact, waiting for me.

With intentions that were unmistakably the best, I had succeeded. But in a horrendous turn of fate, I realized that the plans with which I had chosen to enact my intent were flawed, with permanent repercussions. The waterfall was oddly silent, and as I fell I let out a howl of fear for what was to come next, but I am sure that no one was around to hear at the edge of the ocean.