Remember the very first time you stepped into the sea? For me it was 1975. I was eleven years old and it was life changing.
Now, and for the past 35 years, I’ve lived within thirty minutes of the sea. And for the past 11 years, within three minutes of the sea.
I love the point where land meets water—shoreline, sand, swells, salt, shells, storms, sun… the sea. For the past half century, I’ve logged a measurable percentage of my days in, on, and around water: from swimming to boating, kayaking to exploring, thinking to praying… just living.
Diagnosed with polycystic kidney disease (PKD) when I was eighteen, it wasn’t until I turned fifty-three that I began home peritoneal dialysis four times daily. And it was at that point that I abandoned the sea. Not voluntarily, mind you; it’s just that peritoneal dialysis and playing in salt water do not tend to mix well. It was not an easy five years.
Ever since I was a kid, music has played a significant role in my life. My eclectic musical tastes run the gamut. And, of course, there’s Jimmy Buffett. The albums You Had to Be There and Son of a Son of a Sailor were my introduction to Buffett’s music. I was sixteen at the time. And his music, much of which is about the sea, has literally provided the soundtrack to my life for forty-five years now. In addition to listening to his music, I read his books, attended his concerts, and collected his memorabilia. When he passed away last September, I lost an inspirational muse. I’m very grateful his music and writings live on.
Though next to impossible to narrow it down to a single song (though “Cowboy in the Jungle” would probably be it), suffice to say it was Buffett’s music about the sea that helped me persevere the five years I was on dialysis awaiting a transplant, hopeful and prayerful that one day to the sea I would return.
There is something strangely replenishing for me to sit in the sand, stare out over the horizon, swim in the salty water, and switch all my gears to neutral. That point where land and sea kiss is a whole other world from our 24-7-365 world. The hugeness of the sea bids me to recalibrate my internal settings, while the carefree frolic of pelican and porpoise helps me reorient myself to true north. The rhythm of the waves compels me.
I can’t count the times from 2017 to 2022 that I sang along with Mr. Buffett:
Island, I see you in the distance
I feel that your existence
Is not unlike my own.
Island, they say no man is like you
They say you stand alone
Sometimes I feel that way too.
As a photographer, I wish somehow I could illustrate this short essay with photos and videos and journal entries I’ve taken and written living on the South Outer Banks of the Crystal Coast during that five-year stretch that resembled eternity. Listening to Buffett sing about the sea, photographing the islands off the coast of Carolina, and walking the beaches choosing shells to take back to my apartment somehow kept me afloat while waiting for a transplant.
After my kidney transplant in February 2022, the medical team asked me what I was most looking forward to once recovered. It was an easy question for me to answer. I was looking forward to getting back into the sea, kayaking back to Carrot Island, and enjoying a Landshark beer at a Buffett concert. I was only able to accomplish the first two due to Jimmy’s untimely death last year.
My favorite quote is from Isak Dinesen, “The cure for anything is saltwater—sweat, tears, or the sea.” Jimmy Buffet’s music provided that cure for me during the five years I was landlocked… mere feet from the sea that might as well have been a thousand miles.
Wrote a note said be back in a minute
Bought a boat and I sailed off in it
Don’t think anybody’s gonna miss me anyway.
Mind on a permanent vacation
The ocean is my only medication
Wishing my condition ain’t ever gonna go away.
The creative arts can be a mighty force for those of us with kidney disease. Whether you’re a reader, a listener, or a watcher, find that author or musician or filmmaker who resonates with your internal compass and persevere through this season. You’ll be back to the sea in no time.
Mike Gothard received a kidney transplant in February 2022 after being on peritoneal dialysis for five years. He is a photographer and owns/operates Beaufort Photography Co. on the Crystal Coast of NC. He is also an aviation geek, collects aviation tags and memorabilia, and takes to the skies for any reason, often just to visit a new airport or plane spot.
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