The Plunge. Oil on Board, 20x14.

I've been getting in the ocean all year long here in Maine - like this lady. The first time I went in the winter I was with my friend, who has been doing it a lot longer than me and gets in quickly, no fuss, and there were all these older neighborhood ladies in there, talking and laughing and wearing their mittens and I thought: I want this.  Once one of them told us that she boils rocks in her kitchen, brings them to the beach, puts them in her mittens while she swims, and then comes out of the ocean to nice warm mittens. Once one of them told us she hums the whole time she is in there. Sometimes they talk and laugh, sometimes they swim, sometimes they stand there quietly. I do all those things sometimes, too. I hate the getting in part. Sometimes I yell, but I am not particularly proud of that - quiet is better. The men yell and make a big loud fuss more than the women, and there are a lot more women - old and young and in between. We all walk down to the ocean, mostly, though when it's very cold some of us drive because it's nice to get into a warm car after. I am honestly not sure why I do this, but it has to do with these women - I am one of them. I want to have a little adventure in the ocean, with my friends, before I start my day. I want to have sea water on my skin all year long. My friend, Aoife, the one who got me doing this, she coached me in the beginning: Breathe, she said. Feel the ocean on your skin. Find your breath and slow it down. And I did. And I do. I still don't get in as fast as my friends (or anyone, I don't think), and once I am in I count and I find my breath and I feel the ocean and I stay for 3 minutes or so, and then I get out. And I am always glad I did it. Proud for having done something hard, but it's not just that, it’s more than pride - it actually feels good. There is something about it that makes me physically feel really, really good. I am in my body, in the ocean, with women and the sky all around me, and I feel alive.