The Dip…An End of Ennui

“… (Cortes) stared at the Pacific—and all his men looked at each other with a wild surmise—silent, upon a peak in Darien.” Keats

"Why?” she said aloud as she stood upon the beach with a camera, fully clothed and in her right mind. Others had sought the outdoor heater, all staring at the crowd of about 200 that had assembled upon the crest of the beach’s edge. “Why would they gather, half naked, like an assembly of the insane upon this sandy escarpment?” She was only there because her husband was among the congregants. But she wondered.

A gray cloud cover hung low over the ocean, obscuring the sun. The wind was light, variable. The water temperature was 57 degrees, the wave action negligible, the tide high. It was January 1, 2010.

Like a flock of pelicans, the assembly stood expectant, anticipatory, shivering in swim suits in the raw, frigid air. They waited for the 9:00 hour when “it” would happen. After all, it had become a tradition to fling oneself into the swirling ocean waters every New Year’s Day, irrespective of nature’s caprice. “But why?”

Another crowd had gathered within the tent, shaking off the chill, drinking hot chocolate and coffee and collectively asking, “Why?” There were no answers to such questions for those fully clothed, warm and out of the elements. The answer was found only with the Extremists, those enduring whatever nature had to offer at the time. Today they again stood on the shore, waiting—wondering what it’d be like this year—knowing already.

The crowd soon became restless in its desire to “get it over with,” this ritual they signed on for in the comfort of their homes some days earlier. A lot of things are easy in such comfort, often after some bet or surfeit of alcohol…but pulling oneself from the down comforter on an artic morning, in a sound mind, enduring ridicule, took guts. Such endeavors are not for sissies! So now they had come, psyched and prepared for the icy waters.

The line formed behind the yellow tape, and the crier shouted, “5-4-3-2-1…Go!” Like the violent rush of a herd of demon-possessed Gadarene swine, the horde hurled headlong into the swirling brine, the icy and angry waters of the Atlantic Ocean swallowing them up. The tent spectators stood amazed, speechless, shaking their heads in disbelief, but inwardly relieved as the waters soon released the convocation of fools, those they had married or birthed. “Where did they get that aberrant gene,” they all thought to themselves, hoping they’d not passed it on to their offspring.

As quickly as they had committed themselves to the sea, they retreated to the waiting towels, their breath rising in a vaporous gas into the chilled air. They’d done it, again, survived what nature had dictated that day without harm. “Why?” The question lingered, floating in the morning air.

She made pictures of her husband’s group, “The Intrepids” (so-called and boastful perhaps, she thought, but age is allowed some perks, if only in words). They mingled with the departing crowd, collecting a commemorative cup emblazoned with the event and date. Cheesy, some said, expecting a towel like last year. But hey, the times require frugality.

“Why,” she asked her husband, and others. Another asked, “What did that prove?”

The answer had not been rehearsed, of course, but everyone who took “The Plunge” knew. It was not about accolades, machismo, feats of bravery, or sheer absurdity. It was more abstract than that. It was about being alive again, if only for a short while, in a world of chaos and change.

She asked him, “Why do you do this?” He thought for a long moment and responded.

“Why? Why anything? It’s about life, abundant life now. There is no distance on this earth as far away as yesterday. And living is not about achieving some end result, which is but some scattered memories, an engraved marble slab or a decorative urn filled with ashes. Life is about the process of living each day, independent of all the others. That’s why I do this, to experience life again today in a world that has no yesterday.”

Then he added, “Speaking of life, let’s get a cup of chocolate, go home, stoke the fire and cook up some eggs, grits and smoked bacon…now that’s really living on the first day of 2010.”

Bud Hearn
January 7, 2009