Riding the Undertow: What a Taiwanese Beach Taught Me About Life

Oluanpi

The memory is as vivid as the salt on my lips. It smells of sun-warmed sand and tastes of the familiar, salty tang of a beach in Oluanpi, located on the southernmost part of the island of Taiwan.

Oluanpi, in many ways, was my backyard growing up on the island. Every chance I got, I’d make the trip to the coast, drawn by the vibrant blue that stretched to the horizon. There was one particular swimming spot I loved—a stretch of water where the waves seemed to hug the shore. But that beauty came with a hidden danger, one every local knew well: a powerful, unpredictable undertow.

The Panic Below

I’d navigated those waters hundreds of times, so I felt confident, maybe even a little complacent, the day it finally happened. I was swimming farther out than usual, enjoying the rhythmic pull and release of the water, when suddenly, the rhythm changed. The current grabbed me. In an instant, I was caught in the sheer, invisible force of the undertow.

The panic was immediate and absolute. My lungs tightened, and a primal fear flooded my system. I kicked, I thrashed, I swam with every ounce of strength I had, but it was like fighting a liquid wall. No matter how hard I strained, I couldn’t break the surface. I was being dragged down, and with every frantic, wasted stroke, I felt myself getting closer to drowning. This is it, I remember thinking, a horrifying clarity cutting through the terror.

The Moment of Stillness

Then, something shifted. Not in the water, but in me. Exhaustion, or perhaps a deep-seated survival instinct, simply made me stop fighting. I went limp. I stopped thrashing against the unyielding force, and in that split second of stillness, the chaos faded.

And that’s when I saw it.

When the frantic movement stopped, the water became clearer, and the subtle shift in light—the fainter, brighter blue—showed me the way up. The very act of surrendering the fight allowed my body to stop expending energy and my mind to gain clarity. With a single, focused, and non-panicked stroke, I pushed in the direction of the light. I broke the surface, gasping for the warm air, the shore a sight I’ll never take for granted again.

Life’s Undertow

It’s been years since that moment in Oluanpi, but the lesson the ocean taught me is one I revisit regularly. It’s a profound metaphor for the struggles we all face in life.

When life hits us—with a job loss, a broken heart, a health scare, or overwhelming stress—it feels exactly like being caught in an undertow. We instinctively kick, thrash, and fight against the current, burning precious energy trying to force things back to how they were or how we think they should be. We believe that the only way to survive is to struggle harder.

But often, that intense struggle is what keeps us trapped beneath the surface. It clouds our judgment, exhausts our resilience, and prevents us from seeing the solution right in front of us. The shore—the place of peace, safety, and perspective—is only reachable when we stop the frantic fight.

When we consciously decide to slow down, take a deep breath, and stop thrashing, a miraculous thing happens:

1. Clarity Returns: We stop wasting energy and can finally see the “light,” the next logical step, or the direction we actually need to swim.

2. Energy is Conserved: We reserve our strength for the one meaningful push instead of a hundred useless ones.

3. Acceptance Grounds Us: We accept the current reality (the undertow) and stop fighting the fact that we’re struggling, which often frees us to find a way through it.

If you’re caught in life’s undertow today—feeling overwhelmed, exhausted, and like you can’t get your head above water — you don’t need to fight harder. Maybe, just maybe, you need to stop. Gain your clarity. And then, with a single, focused breath, swim toward the light.

©Lisa King, MS, LPC, NCC