The Ocean Is Getting on My Nerves

This is the ocean with which I had my recent run-in. See how judgy it is?

September 1, 2023. How To with John Wilson could be called Shit John Wilson Finds Interesting. The HBO show can be cringy--the first episode of season 3 dwells on shit, literally, the second on ear wax--but that’s part of its oddball charm. Wilson finds weirdness everywhere, including places we’d prefer to ignore. He inspires me to write about odd things, like my sudden obsession with drawing my feet, the subject of my last column; or my recent run-in with the ocean, which I recount below.

For years, my girlfriend “Emily” and I have spent a stretch of August in a cottage near the sea. Ideally, this vacation readies me for the tumult of the fall semester. I like to begin each day by jogging barefoot along the beach. I head out shortly after sunrise, even if it’s drizzly.

I rarely encounter another person, except maybe a lone surfcaster. I see plenty of non-human creatures, mainly stolid gulls and skittery plovers. Now and then a seal pokes his head above the waves and checks me out. I yell, Hey, how ya doin’! The seal invariably stays mum.

A joy of this morning ritual is bragging about it to others, and to myself. Running on an empty beach at dawn, waves washing my feet, makes me feel virtuous. And the ocean puts my life in perspective, it makes my troubles seem small. That’s the idea, anyway.

This August, my morning ritual went awry. As I ran, I brooded over a spat I had with Emily the previous day. Mundane, food-related, but still aggravating. I was enumerating the ways in which Emily was wrong and I was right, and rehearsing one-liners for a reprise of the argument.

At some point, I glanced at the great wrinkled face of the ocean, and I sensed it judging me. It telepathically admonished me, in an annoyingly serene, godlike voice, Chill out, man, or words to that effect.

In the past, the ocean has helped me see the pettiness of my thoughts, especially compared to its sublime majesty. I remember how lucky I am to be alive and to have a girlfriend, any girlfriend, and especially quirky, cool Emily. My irritation passes.

But this time, the ocean’s judginess pissed me off. It made me feel bad about my pettiness, bad about myself, bad about my life. Now I was mad at the ocean as well as Emily. I faced the waves and yelled, You’re getting on my nerves, man! Maybe I yelled telepathically, I’m not sure.

The ocean was merely doing its job, pointing out the vast gap between my surly thoughts and spiritual ambitions. I, like many people, crave enlightenment, which to me means being in a state of jaw-dropping wonder before the infinite improbability--the miracle--of existence.

I’ve had tastes of this mystical state, and not only when I’m tripping or running along the ocean. I might be watching Extraordinary Attorney Woo with Emily or haranguing students about heat death. But life keeps harshing my mellow. I am as vain, selfish and thin-skinned as the next guy, and I can get grumpy when things don’t go my way. Far from grooving on the miracle, I sulk.

Jorge Luis Borges wrote a hilarious story, “The Aleph,” about the contrast between our mystical pretensions and our pettiness. In the story, Carlos, an arrogant prick, brags to the narrator, “Borges,” that he has discovered an Aleph, a mystical portal to infinite knowledge, in the cellar of his family home.

Borges is skeptical, but when he descends into the cellar, he sees everything everywhere all at once. The Aleph is real! Borges feels “infinite veneration, infinite compassion,” but far from thanking Carlos for revealing the Aleph, Borges pretends he saw nothing. He gaslights Carlos because he despises him and wants him to think that he, Carlos, is going nuts. Borges, despite his transcendent vision, remains a petty, mean asshole, just like Carlos. Come on, that’s funny.

Back to the sea and me and Emily. When I returned to the cottage, Emily was up, making tea. I told her that I came up with an idea for a column during my run. The headline would be “The Ocean Is Getting on My Nerves.” Emily replied, “You are getting on the ocean’s nerves.” “Good one,” I said, laughing, and everything was okay.

Further Reading:

This is the third column inspired by my recent sojourn on the sea. See also “Drawing a Pen with the Same Pen and Other Strange Loops” and “Entropy, Meaninglessness and Miracles.”

Also relevant: “The Weirdness of Weirdness.”