Once a year, the Sun God demands a sacrifice, on the morning of the winter solstice, of three young maidens. They are to wade into the cold water, and give of themselves freely, so that the rains can be secured for next spring.
There were no fine, young maidens around yesterday morning, so Julia, Teresa and I threw ourselves into the Irish sea at 8.28am, in time for sunrise. The Irish Sea quickly spat us back out again, as the sacrifice was unwanted.
The three of us have been sea-swimming every weekend, from April until the shortest day, for five seasons and we have a very strong safety record. Many a time we’ve abandoned a swim at the 40 Foot if it’s too wild, and we only ever swim at Vico on the calmest of days. We only swim when there are others in the sea, and when our capabilities match the conditions. We swim when it feels right.
Yesterday, it didn’t feel right.
The wind and tide were low, but there was a very strong swell, which made it challenging to walk down the stone steps, into the sea. More importantly, while there were lots of spectators, sitting on the rocks to enjoy the sunrise, there was only one other swimmer in the water.
A random stranger took charge of us and began to give instructions. We should go in via the side steps, we should time our entry and exit well, we should be careful and watch the high waves. All of this was interesting and potentially helpful information, had we paid any head to him.
Instead, what followed was a spectacular 90 seconds of seriously unhinged chaos.
Julia was the first one to get battered into the railings, but undeterred she did a 360 turn around, caught her breath, and dived headfirst into the oncoming high waves. Teresa followed steadily, with a magnificent belly flop into the cold water. I didn’t even get off the steps before a wave took me under, and for a while I was neither on the steps, nor off the steps, but simply under the water circling around within the swirl. Eventually, my hand found the railing, and I popped back up again, and waved at our Stranger-Instructor to tell him everything was OK. Teresa and Julia stayed afloat for a minute, before climbing up the ladder, back to dry land.
The sunrise spectators were watching, in horror from the rocks, as we dived, jumped and fell into the water. They looked like a Greek chorus who could be singing, “why did you go into the water, on such a choppy day? Why, why, why why?”
And why did we?
I blame the Internet Machine.
The Internet Machine has made babies of us all.
It makes me impatient, desperate for attention, unwise and envious. There was a part of me yesterday, that wanted to go into the water for the photo I would be able to share on my social media. My desire for the solstice swim, pictures and all, was stronger than the inner voice telling me to go around to Sandy Cove for a calmer swim. No one would have minded if I hadn’t swum. Yet, this is the life we live.
We spend more time online than offline and even our offline lives are fodder for our content. We over-share, post for likes, offer up our secrets and private moments in exchange for attention, and we make poor decisions.
If I have one resolution this year, it is to leave my mobile phone at home more often. I plan to treat it like a land-line, and leave it tethered to a wall, in the corner of the living room. I will go outside without it, like I always did, and check it for important messages a few times a day.
This is a funny old time of year, with the darkest of days and the longest of nights, designed for sitting around a fire, listening to stories. Yet, the busyness of Christmas is marketed for relentless commercialism, high energy social interactions and envy. Instead of giving and receiving blessings, we can feel fatigued, bluesy and alone.
Some people are having fun.
And some of them are stuck in traffic behind Chris de Burgh, waiting at airports, getting stressed by family, hungover, resentful and sad. Some people are having a happy, joyful and hilarious time and some people are doing both things. The Internet Machine seems to think we must be blissed out all the time, if we are to be happy when the fully rounded human being can feel happy and sad, excited and low, jealous and kind, all at the same time.
That’s our primate condition.
Yesterday morning in the sea, I was scared at the hairy bits and exhilarated by the beauty. I was happy the situation didn’t escalate, and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I won’t make that mistake again, but I completely understand the pull. I am grateful I have such wonderful friends in my life, who I can count on to laugh with, at all the times.
This Christmas, I wish you wisdom.
I wish that you may discern between which political arguments you will pursue with your family this season, and which ones you will let lie at the door.
I wish that you buy yourself one nice gift, to unwrap on Christmas morning.
I wish that you notice how lucky you are, to be here at this festive time.
I wish that you enjoy the tinsel and decoration and note that they are temporary.
I wish that you are blessed by your elders, or your Sun God, or your Santa, and that they thank you for all you did for others throughout the year: that you loved, comforted and supported the people in your lives, and that they did it back to you.
Happy Christmas, and a happy new year.
Shorter than me 