My first dreams of waves were as a toddler in my bed on a hill in Wisconsin, long before I had ever been to an ocean, let alone felt the power of its waves. This was a recurring dream as a young child: I would find myself playing on a beach and see a tidal wave coming, like a wild beast intent on swallowing me whole. Unfortunately these were also my first and most significant experience of becoming a living piece of molasses: the harder I tried to run from the towering blue beast, the slower and more stuck my limbs became, until the shear panic of it all would wake me in a cold sweat. After enough of these, one night I learned to overcome my fear, not by outrunning the wave, but by surrendering to it. I remember I decided to just let the wave gobble me up. At first it was dark and violent, but then I decided there was no use fighting it, and then I remember everything became lighter and as I let go it actually became fun as I somersaulted about in the wave, flowing with the energy of water. I became possibly one of the youngest Wisconsinites to learn to relax to the washing machine ride without ever having touched the sea.