Where I am is on Curacao, for a 30-day rehab at the Jellinek Retreat, a serious attempt at sobriety. This is typical of me, this coming to an exotic place to get sober. Believing that the tropical sun can take the pain away, looking for the path of least resistance. Paying a lot of money so the extra guilt will propel me forward. I am 276 hours sober now. But I am the only one counting. My fight, my demons.

The water is surprisingly warm, causing sensory confusion in my brain which is absurdly visualizing a white Christmas.

While I am putting an ever wider distance between myself and the beach, it occurs to me that it is completely up to me whether I continue swimming to open sea or not. Nobody will tell me to turn around and swim back to shore. It makes me weary to think of this complete freedom to either live or die. I feel utterly alone and groundless, literally as well as metaphorically. Am I really unobserved? Is there nobody to stop me? I did not create myself, yet I am stuck with me. If I am part of the universe, why does it not care? I shiver despite the warmness of the water.

For some reason, I see Edvard Munch’s The Scream in my mind, the iconic painting of the hopeless figure grasping its cheeks in dread along a Norwegian fiord. I am guessing this pops up now because on the plane over, I read in the Wall Street Journal  that the painting has just been sold for 100M$ at Sotheby’s in London. While swimming, I get an image of a 15-year old me, looking at that painting for the very first time in art class, being explained by the teacher that it depicts existential fear. I remember her using the German word Angst to describe the emotion of the character in the picture. The younger me listening, fascinated both with that word and the art. I remember that evening looking up the word Angst and wondering what ‘intense inner turmoil’ meant really.

I know my own mind, nothing is ever a coincidence. Angst perfectly describes the loneliness and frailty I feel here in the ocean. I feel more self-conscious than I want to be. I picture myself in a Google Maps kind of way, a small red dot in a vast blue body of water. A mortal creature in a brutal cosmos.

Not a new feeling. Since I was a boy, I have always been more aware of the absurdity of it all, like I was missing a basic map of the land. Surely there must be a point to all this? And that point cannot be my swimming on and then drowning? All my life, I have been waiting for an outside power to give me purpose. I have been roaming around, circling in a holding pattern above my life, looking down and observing myself. Counting down for real life to begin.

Like a shipwrecked person, I am looking for something to hold on to. My mind’s eye sees a raft. If I have not come imprinted with the right Operating System, I can build one myself. I can create an essence out of my own existence. I realize that how I solve my inborn desire for meaning directly affects the quality of my life. I suddenly feel I am back in control. I will aim high, I will aim for the meaning of my life.

I feel a sudden exhilaration with this new insight, a surge of power from a center that was hidden and off-limits until this very moment.

I decide to swim back to shore. It does not end here, not today.