“We surfaced, of course. This is something to remember—” – Julia Armfield, ‘Our Wives Under The Sea’
Listening to X’unei Lance Twitchell on The Daily Zeitgeist last week talking about how we should replace Western/Eastern binary thinking (or Western/“traditional”) with Colonial/Anti-Colonial framing got the noggin-water boiling in my ol’ noodle. Not to be overdramatic, but the fate of the planet kinda lies in whether or not we want to look at Earth through a colonial or anti-colonial lens. For one, we absolutely need to be adopting some Indigenous ways of thinking when it comes to the environment. Our planet is burning, and it’s colonialists’ fault, but this isn’t a climate change essay.
I was thinking about the environment. But of course you knew I’d tie this to kayaking.
I was out yakkin for the first time this summer yesterday, and Lord Almighty, the waters of Pratt Beach were choppy. But God’s not to blame for that, I’ve just been conditioned to say things like “Lordy” because I spent too much of 2016-2017 making fun of James Comey. If there’s any god we should invoke it’s Poseidon, that prick.
I love The Odyssey, with its easy summary: don’t think you’re better than the water god. But no one in Western civilization learned the lesson Homer was dactylic hexametering at us. It’s common in colonialist lexicon to talk about “conquering” the waves, the mountains, the jungle. Just as it is common to invoke God in Heaven over touchdown passes or safe plane rides or something else the Lord simply do not have one single thing to do with.
Figure out your place in the world, don’t try to conquer it.
That’s what Tuesday afternoon’s roiling Lake Michigan was hollering at my probably under-inflated kayak. “I’ve been a lake, I’ll continue to be a lake, figure out if you want to be above or below the surface and act accordingly,” the Great Waters spake, saying. More and more, “figure out your place in the world” feels like a necessity, rather than some sort of feel-good mantra. Every year, oil drilling is expanding. Obama didn’t stand with the Standing Rock protesters, Trump backed out of the Paris agreement, Joseph Robinette Biden approved oil drilling in Alaska, and I’m old enough to remember castigating George W. Bush for even thinking about that.
All the billionaires are either doomsday preppers or space colonists, thinking the answer to all our problems lies either in New Zealand or on Mars, and that the untold human suffering of every coast from Bangladesh to Côte d’Azur to Miami sinking won’t affect their Ambien-induced sleep.
Why isn’t it easier to just take care of the planet?
Why isn’t “enjoying this, right here,” good enough?
Why do I feel silly and want to delete those questions?
“Big valleys,” is all I could think to describe the lake’s waves to my wife. Ones where you see them coming, watch the nose of your kayak rise up and then feel the rug pulled from under you as it passes. More than once, I was angled slightly off from the oncoming waves, got knocked around enough that I instinctively stuck my foot out of the boat like a skateboarder looking for purchase in a tight landing spot. Jet ski and speedboat motors roared in the distance. It’s only been a couple hours, and I can still feel the water bobbing if I think about it. I wanted to stay out longer, but didn’t want to push it with an inflatable kayak. I was grateful to have the presence of mind to think “this is what the lake’s giving me today, and the important thing is, I am getting to kayak. On a Tuesday!”
Plus, my kid—who was taller than the waves only sometimes—did not need to see me fall off that kayak. There was no need to think I’m better than the lake, to “conquer” it and paddle around the pier, like I wanted to. It was nice enough to paddle out, bob up and down a while, paddle a little more, bob up and down over there a while, then paddle back to shore. In the really shallow water, I rolled off and threw my son on the kayak. His mom and I walked the boat to the sand, the child pounding the water uselessly (but not in his mind) with the oar. He had an absolute blast. I’ll go kayaking another day, and one of these days, my son will be old enough to join me.
Besides, we live in Chicago. There’s like two and half kayaking months per year. It’d be silly not to be grateful to Lake Michigan any time you get to go yakkin.
Sorry you got an email,
Chris