Leland trembled as he untied his boots and pried them off. Carefully placing his socks and shirt inside, he walked toward the water and stopped, toes well out of reach of the waves’ gentle lapping. He noted how unpredictably they approached and retreated, marking the heartbeat of the ocean.

Astonishing, that a man can go 71 years on Earth without swimming a single stroke. The years creaked in his bones as he knelt and inched closer to touch the wet sand with his right index finger. Eroded by the next swell, the ground gave way and enveloped his first knuckle. He pulled his hand back quickly and shook a flurry of drops from it. He was still afraid. A surge of embarrassment ran through his heart as he saw even children enjoying themselves, seemingly impossible distances from shore.

He wouldn’t have another opportunity like today. He gathered the courage by a simple avoidance of regret, bolted his eyes shut tightly, and stepped forward. Fearful questions flooded his mind as he felt the sea’s cold fist wrapping fingers around his ankles. Knees next, and then an icy shock of awkwardness as water displaced air, ballooning his shorts. He suddenly realized he was waist deep, and kept moving, until he could feel the ocean tightening around his chest, causing one or two shuddering breaths to flee. He wondered how close to shore the undertow’s jurisdiction lay, and stood motionless, now up to his shoulders in the bubbly surf.

With his fists still clenched to his sides he opened his eyes and looked back to the sandy beach with dream-like disorientation. One deep breath, two, then three, and he was able to open his hands and stretch out his arms, almost floating. Surely as he had been told, the water supported him and made him feel weightless. Being careful not to allow a misstep, he realized the sea was trying to rock him gently back and forth and remained undecided about letting it. Looking upward to the sky, a smile of relief won his face. It was a remarkably beautiful day.