i'll just have to build my own ocean
an essay on paper fish, childhood magic, and the ever-changing tides
i’ve been finding myself at the beach a lot lately. it’s where i go when i don’t know where else to go. funny how some places work like that. there are places we plan to visit, and then there are places we drift toward without thinking, like second nature. pulled in like a moth to a flame. a place to land when your mind is too tired to find its own way.
it’s my last week in los angeles before i move to a new state. maybe that’s why i keep coming here. soon i won’t be able to dig my toes into the soft sand whenever i want, feel the cold rush around my ankles, listen to the waves roll in, see dogs sprint after a frisbee, watch the sky melt into a sherbet sunset, spot dolphins tracing the horizon, watch surfers catch a wave, notice little crabs dart across the grains like they have somewhere important to be. the ocean has always offered me a rare kind of peace. steady through the turbulence, the peaks and valleys, the ever-shifting tides of my life. always there, waiting like a dear friend, arms wide, ready whenever i needed an escape, even before i knew what i meant to me.
when i was six years old, i built my own ocean in the front entrance of my childhood home. my family had a big blue gymnastics mat from when i took classes, but to me it was the deep sea. i cut fish shapes out of colorful cardstock from the closet of my parents’ office. we had almost every color, so i could make a whole school of different species. i drew stripes and scales with sharpies and highlighters, stuck double-sided tape to the back, and built a fishing pole from a wooden stick, some yarn, and a lacrosse ball tied at the end. i even dragged a few foldable beach chairs into the scene and threw on a bathing suit to make it official. then i’d stand on my tiptoes, lean over the upstairs banister, lower the pole toward the fish scattered across the mat, and pull them up one by one, cheering with every catch. they bit! i’d say to myself, reeling them in to inspect before plopping them into the little bucket beside me. it kept me busy for hours. just me and my paper fish.
even with my bare feet on the beige carpet of the upstairs hallway, i could hear the waves in my head, smell the salt in the air, feel the fresh wind on my skin. maybe part of me has always craved the kind of calm i feel here now. has always wanted to step past the edges of my inner world into something limitless. something that moved to its own rhythm, drifting toward me in shades of blue and green before slipping back out again. no hurry. no timeline. only quiet witnessing. a place that asked for no control, only surrender.
when i think about the times i’ve gone to the ocean, it’s usually when i’ve felt lost. when my internal compass felt broken, or at least like i couldn’t read it because my glasses were fogged. when i needed to stand in front of something bigger than myself, something that could remind me i’m still held, still moving in the right direction, even when i can’t see it yet. this year has brought more change than i could have imagined. tides i didn’t see coming, currents i couldn’t fight. sometimes i’ve felt pulled under, swimming against it until i was exhausted. but the ocean shows me a simple truth: to move with it, not against it. to let it carry me, and to trust i’ll reach the shore when i’m meant to.
as i pack my memories and tape up boxes, i think about the little girl who once held the ocean in the palm of her hands, stitched from scraps, tape, and infinite imagination. maybe the magic was always inside her. maybe it still is. and on the days i miss the sea salt on my skin, i’ll remember the ocean i once built, and the paper fish that swam in it.
“Creative Chloe” ❤️