People are either drawn to the mountains, or drawn to the sea.

The two are so monstrous that they are difficult to fathom. They’re hard to wrap your mind around. Whether expanding past the clouds or washing away leagues under the sea, there is a magnitude of the two places that is impossible to ignore. So instead, we’re fascinated and every trip we make is either to the beach or to the mountains in search of a semblance of understanding of the awe we are overcome with when we get there.

In either place, there is calm away from regular life. Is that what people are searching for?

The ocean was always so close. At the right time of year, you could smell the salt on the air. You could smell it in the breeze, you could almost taste it with the snow. I always thought a few miles was so far until hours stood between me and her. When the dead of night was too silent and I found fear fighting my own thoughts, only a few minutes stood between a salty lullaby and cold, white fingers touching my toes over and over again. The crash of every wave drove out whatever demons were holding my hands and instead replaced in them a sense of calm.

No matter how many times the tide recedes from the sand, it will always rush back. It will always be met with open arms. As predictable as the sun rising in the morning, the tide always ebbs and flows. Consistency is something I trust.

The mountains weren’t far, either. They were as far away then as the beach is from me now. Then, I hated the drive. It felt like forever until the urban sprawl faded away and before us lining the road were sheets of blue ice constantly covering the rocks of the burgeoning mountains. The mountains erupted out of the ground like royalty, standing silent and above everything. Many untouched, there is mystery surrounding the peaks as thick as the clouds they rise over.

Our house was the last building on the highway that ran through the White Mountains for at least 30 miles. The White Mountain National forest surrounded Clearbrooke which was built on the side of a mountain, and it was dense and wild. There were always signs of wild animals that lived behind our house; moose, bears, deer, foxes, and whatever else exists in a forest cold enough that people died of exposure yearly. Before leaving for the mountain to ski one morning, a moose casually cantered his way around the cul-de-sac where our house was. Being so close and so obviously entrenched in nature or the wild, you get a sense that very little of your normal life matters. If you’re fighting with a friend, who cares. You literally have to pay attention to the fact that there is a wild animal rampaging around outside where you were about to go. Stress? Well, let go of it because that black bear knows you’re there before you have an inkling of her existence.

I took a hike with my brother in Colorado last fall. On our way down from the top of whatever we were on (cliff, mountain, I don’t know the proper term here) several people mentioned they’d seen a snake, but they weren’t sure what kind it was. In an area where rattlesnakes are far too common, understandably I was tense. Especially when we passed the area the snake was supposed to be lurking and there was a very audible shaking noise. I looked left, and the rattlesnake was poised in this miniature cave (for lack of a better word) watching us with dark eyes. I’m not even going to pretend like I know what that snake felt, I can only guess that it was scared. Or angry. Without permission of any kind, we’d intruded on its territory. If beings who looked different and spoke differently wandered into my yard, I would probably go outside with a gun. Probably.

Why should the snake be any different?

Some people might prefer the collective unknown of the forests that cover mountains. They might be humbled by the magnitude of the peaks they climb, knowing that they’re capable of rendering humans injured or otherwise. I think that’s the critical difference in claiming you’re a mountain-girl or a merman.

I’m not afraid of the ocean because I am unpredictable and chaotic and wild. I trust her consistency, her calm, and the ever present feeling of tight skin from the salt in the waters. I am not afraid of what is within her that I don’t know, that I don’t understand. Some people are calm enough to believe in the wilderness, to long for the mountains or to find peace there. Some people overcome incredible feats to climb to new peaks.

I would rather be reminded that I am very small and inconsequential through the repeated crash of waves. I would rather overcome myself at the edge of the water. If should happen to be carried out to sea, there is nothing you can do but swim.

And I like to be reminded calmly, sweetly, and with a force I cannot combat that I am the backbone of everything I want, of everything I try to do, of everything that I am. It all begins and ends with me.

The tide will come and go. I can choose to let it pull me to sea. Or not.