To the Ocean, My Calm in the Chaos

Photo from @drm.zxy

A little while ago, I found myself working on a remote island—think minimal cellphone signal,Wi-Fi, unfamiliar faces, and a whole lot of silence. 

And that’s when something pretty unexpected happened: I fell in love with the ocean. 

At first, the ocean was just… there. A beautiful, blue backdrop to my everyday routine. But gradually, I started noticing something. Every time work got overwhelming, or loneliness crept in, I’d find myself walking toward the water. Not for any grand reason—just to sit, listen, and breathe.

There’s something weirdly therapeutic about the sound of waves. The way they crash and retreat, over and over again, without caring how your day went. No deadlines, no pressure. Just… rhythm.

One of the harder things about living in a remote place is the silence. And I don’t just mean the absence of noise—I mean the absence of people. No quick coffees with friends. No familiar voices. Just me, my thoughts, and the ocean.

But over time, that silence stopped feeling like loneliness. It started to feel like solitude. And that solitude gave me space to think, reset, and just be.

It turns out, the ocean can be a pretty good listener.

Looking back, that experience taught me a few things:

1. Nature is underrated – Sometimes the best way to recharge isn't a productivity hack or another book—it's just being outside and feeling the salty wind on your face.

2.Presence is powerful – The ocean doesn't multitask. It’s just there, doing its thing. And somehow, that helped me slow down too.

3.Solitude can be a superpower – When we strip away distractions, we can finally hear what our minds are trying to say.

I didn’t expect to find a friend in the ocean. But on that island, in the middle of nowhere, it became my quiet companion. It reminded me that even in isolation, we can find connection—in nature, in rhythm, and in ourselves. So now, whenever life gets a bit too loud, I try to remember those moments. A deep breath, a quiet place, and the sound of waves. That’s all I need sometimes.

So to my friend, here's a letter to you:

Hey Ocean,

In a world that never pauses—always buzzing, rushing, demanding—you are the one place that feels like peace. When everything around me feels too loud, too fast, too much—I find you. I sit on your shore, and suddenly, the world softens. 

The crash of your waves is not noise, but a lullaby that reminds me to let go, to breathe, to simply be.

There’s something in you that speaks directly to my soul. You don’t ask for anything. You don’t expect explanations. You just hold me—my silence, my stories, my storms. In your presence, I feel understood without needing to speak.

You are the comfort that comes without condition. You’ve quieted my restless mind more times than I can count. And for that, I will always be grateful.

Even when I’m far away—wrapped in city life, drowned in deadlines—I carry thoughts of you. (I even have a painting of you in my dining room).

Though you wander far and pull away, please know that I will always be admiring you silently, gratefully, from afar. Sometimes, you may feel lost in your vastness, but that's fine.

You are the calm I will always return to. The peace I will always be grateful for. And I will, forever and always, long for the serenity you bring to my life.

Thank you. For existing. For being there. For being you.

Forever and Always,

A kindred spirit.