Am I allowed to say YOLO?

I stumbled upon a poem last week, and it really resonated with me. I feel like I've been trying to catch my breath for forever now. I moved to Baton Rouge and started law school only a few days after taking my last undergraduate finals, and since then it just feels like life has been on fast-forward. A good fast-forward, full of blessings and opportunities!!  But I've been constantly holding my breath, waiting on my life to resume normal speed. (just realized that resume meaning continue is spelled the same as resume meaning a document containing past work experience and accomplishments! Sometimes I think I might not know English...) Anyways, It has been kind of making me crazy. And then this poem happened. 

Young Sea 

by Carl Sandburg

 

The sea is never still.

It pounds on the shore

Restless as a young heart,

Hunting.

 

The sea speaks

And only the stormy hearts

Know what it says:

It is the face

of a rough mother speaking.

 

The sea is young.

One storm cleans all the hoar

And loosens the age of it.

I hear it laughing, reckless.

 

They love the sea,

Men who ride on it

And know they will die

Under the salt of it. 

 

Let only the young come,

Says the sea.

 

Let them kiss my face

And hear me.

I am the last word

And I tell

Where storms and stars come from.

I'm not typically one for poems, but I simply love this'n.  It speaks to me on a level that helps me understand why some people love poetry.  It is so much deeper than it seems, I think.  And each time I re-read it, it speaks to me anew.

For me, the sea is life. Not just my life, but all life. And it is never still. We can be still and listen, but life will constantly swirl around us like the sea. There is no calming it. There is no slowing it. It will rise and fall with the wind day after day after day. And though it will be gentler at times, and all-consuming at times, it will never be still. And just as I am powerless against each wave cast up by the sea, so am I powerless against the constant passing of time. A stormy heart is one craving to know not just of the sunshine, but also of the thunder and the rain. Life is both joy and sorrow. And like the rough voice of a mother, life will grow us with both comfort and admonishment; refining us with experiences in light and in dark.

Like the sea, life is young and never grows weary. And in living, we re-discover youth. One storm, one adventure, one new experience in light and dark loosens the age of us. And the men who ride the sea, those who pull up anchor and sacrifice solid ground in search of the unknown, knowing it will inevitably consume them completely, love it still. Because the safety of shore is a useless thing. Life cannot be found on shore; not for those with stormy hearts. So though the sea is never still, the words of storms and stars- of sacrifice and injustice, of beauty and pain, the words of meaning, of what is far beyond our understanding- they are revealed only to those men who ride the sea.  

I have been riding the sea, but with one eye shut tight with fear and the other continually glancing back longingly at the shore. No longer. I want to hear the words of meaning. I want to live. The days ahead are better than any I have left behind. The current won't slow, so I am pulling up anchor and letting the sea carry me away. Toward what is meant for me and only me. Seize the day! Carpe diem! YOLO!

What? You do only live once!

31 days until departure. I'm terrified. But that's a good thing, right?

Shalom, Ya'll!