Weekly Plunder: Week 21 - Romanticizing Nature

That which you romanticize will eat you alive. In the case of nature it often happens quite literally. I am thinking specifically of the documentary Grizzly Man, in which a man sets out to live with Alaskan grizzly bears only to eventually be devoured by one. In the epic battle of nature and civilization there isn’t necessarily a salvation in one or the other; there are merely consequences that one must be aware of when choosing to settle in either.

This thought brings back a memory from 2020. My first sight of the Atlantic Ocean in the Bahamas (Exhuma) enraptured me. The water was a sapphire and translucent blue that one cannot fathom from the polluted shorelines of a heavily populated nation.

I hurried to the nearest docks, threw my shirt off, and jumped into the ocean. A powerful ocean current pushed me sideways, as if attempting to sweep me along the coast. I swam against it, enjoying the challenge. This must be heaven, I thought.

Then I felt a stabbing pain in my stomach. At first I thought that I had been stabbed by a sharp end of barnacle clinging to the dock. I looked into the water, though, which was nearly transparent, and saw what must have been the king of the island’s jellyfish, floating inches from my body.

The skin around my stomach quickly reddened and my bowels weakened. I climbed out of the ocean, knowing that this injury would linger for a few weeks. It did. It scabbed, it caused giant red welts to form over my entire midsection, and it felt like a second degree burn that lasted for days. It was a freakin’ doozy I tell ya.

It’s estimated that up to 100 people die per year of jellyfish stings. I wasn’t close to death, or at least I assume that I wasn’t, but I can attest that the sting hurt a hell of a lot more than a wasp sting. It hurt a hell of a lot more than any sting I’ve experienced, for that matter.

I quickly returned to the ocean—fun always has risk, after all—but that is a story for another blog.

Nature is lovely, but the lumberjacks and hunters of the world have a far more intimate relationship with it than the urban poets who venture to the woods for a respite.

What I’m watching: All of us are Dead, a new Korean zombie series on Netflix. This is supposed to be bonkers. Anything labeled as “bonkers” has my attention.

What I’m reading: Four Thousand Weeks. It’s a book about time. Four thousand weeks is how long it’s estimated that you will live, and even that is not a guarantee. The human lifespan is short: spend your time wisely.

What I’m listening to: “Call Me Little Sunshine” by Ghost. I’m seeing Ghost live next month and I believe they’ve mastered the art of the double entendre. Songs can be both tongue-in-cheek and cerebral, which is a difficult duality to pull off.

What I’m doing: Each week I’m running a little longer. This week I mixed a few random sprints into my routine. The “bad” foot typically feels raw and sore after a run, but the feeling dissipates over the course of two days. My physical therapist told me this feeling happens because the foot’s muscles are still stiff and severely inflamed. The muscle tears are repaired, but the foot still has some work to do before it gets “back to 100%”. However, it’s getting there, bit by bit.