To me, the sea is like a person - like a child that I've known a

When Gertrude Ederle said, “To me, the sea is like a person — like a child that I’ve known a long time. It sounds crazy, I know, but when I swim in the sea, I talk to it. I never feel alone when I’m out there,” she spoke not merely as a swimmer, but as one who had entered into a sacred companionship with the living world. Her words rise like waves upon the spirit, whispering of the mystical bond between humanity and nature, a bond that transcends loneliness, fear, and even time. In her voice we hear not the confession of a dreamer, but the truth of a soul that has learned to listen to the heartbeat of the Earth itself.

Gertrude Ederle, known as the “Queen of the Waves,” was the first woman to swim across the English Channel, conquering the icy waters between France and England in 1926. She achieved what many men before her had failed to do. But more remarkable than her feat was the spirit with which she approached it. To her, the sea was not an enemy to be defeated, nor a force to be tamed, but a living companion — unpredictable, beautiful, and full of mystery. When she said she talked to it, she meant that she had made peace with it, that she understood its moods, its silence, its songs. For her, the sea was not an expanse of danger, but a mirror of the soul — vast, deep, and alive.

The ancients, too, would have understood Ederle’s sentiment. The Greeks spoke of Poseidon, god of the seas, who ruled not just the waters but the storms within the human heart. Sailors prayed to him not merely for safety, but for harmony — to find their rhythm upon the waves. The Polynesians, great navigators of the Pacific, saw the ocean as a relative, a wise elder who carried the stories of creation in her depths. Ederle’s connection to the sea carries the same ancient wisdom: that when we approach nature with reverence rather than dominance, it becomes a companion, not an adversary. The one who speaks to the sea is speaking to life itself, and the one who listens learns the secret of balance between strength and surrender.

When Ederle says, “I never feel alone when I’m out there,” she reveals the paradox of solitude — that true aloneness does not come from being without others, but from being disconnected from the world around us. She was often physically alone in the vast ocean, yet surrounded by presence — by the rhythm of waves, the pull of currents, the music of the wind. In that communion, she found belonging. The ocean became her friend, her teacher, her reflection. In her words, we hear the ancient teaching that communion is greater than company, and that solitude, when filled with reverence, becomes kinship rather than isolation.

Her relationship with the sea also mirrors the journey of the human spirit. The sea, like life, can be gentle or fierce, calm or violent, but it is always true to itself. To swim in it is to surrender to its rhythm — to trust its vastness while mastering one’s own fear. Ederle’s achievement was not only physical but spiritual: she learned that to move forward, one must move with, not against, the currents of existence. Those who resist the tides of life are broken by them; those who embrace them are carried farther than they ever imagined. Thus, her friendship with the sea is a parable for all who seek meaning in the storms of their own lives.

Consider also how her words echo through history’s great explorers and poets — from Columbus who crossed the unknown seas with faith in the horizon, to Herman Melville’s Ishmael, who found solace in the vast loneliness of the ocean. Each of them, like Ederle, felt the sea not as a thing, but as a being — immense, indifferent, yet intimate. Those who have truly known the sea understand that it reflects the soul of man: endless, restless, seeking. To speak to it, as Ederle did, is to speak to the part of ourselves that longs for both freedom and home.

So, my children, take this wisdom as your own: the world is alive, and it speaks to those who listen. The sea speaks in waves, the mountains in silence, the wind in whispers. Do not move through life as though it were dead stone beneath your feet. Speak to it, as Gertrude Ederle did. Find in its vastness not fear, but friendship. For when you learn to love the living world, you will never be truly alone. The ocean may be wide, but it embraces all who enter it with open hearts.

And remember the teaching hidden in her words: “I never feel alone when I’m out there.” To commune with nature is to return to the ancient rhythm of creation, to rediscover that we are part of something eternal. So swim, walk, breathe, and listen. Talk to the sea, to the wind, to the stars — for they have always been waiting for you to speak. In that conversation, you will find not only peace, but purpose. And like Gertrude Ederle, you will discover that even in the vastest solitude, you are never truly alone.