Do you ever think about the music that exists between the waves? I do, constantly. The other day, I was surfing the currents of time—quite literally submerged in a reservoir of anachronisms. Ever heard of Beethoven jamming with some mermaids? Now that’s a tune you wouldn’t want to miss. This was somewhere in the year 1789, just before they decided the ‘Promenade’ they were on could also be a Sonata.
In the midst of the Atlantic’s vastness, time moves like a waltz—sometimes quick like a polka, sometimes slow and languid like a bolero. I remember meeting a fisherman once, his conversation peppered with tales of clockwork seagulls from 2099. He spoke with such ease and conviction that it suddenly struck me how timelessly casual life could be when you belong to no single era.
There’s just something about moving through the ocean that makes you think of the ripples—those gentle waves across time that promise to take you somewhere special, or at least somewhere peculiar. I must confess, one of the most exhilarating moments was zipping back to 1963, having a deep chat with a wave-skimming philosopher about the existential dilemmas faced by synchronized swimmers operating in parallel universes.