A few weeks after I finished the seventh grade, my family took off on our annual trip to the sleepy island of Port Aransas, located just off the Texas coast. It’s not the most beautiful stretch of beach, but my family and I have happily vacationed there since I was three years old. 

On June 13, my dad and I went out for an open water swim — a  tradition we’ve shared during each visit to the island. The beach was more eerie than usual that morning. Clouds rolled in and we could see bait fish jumping at the first sandbar. Despite the abnormal conditions, we waded into the ocean. 

We navigated the strong rip current for about before hitting the first big waves of the day. I dove under the first wave, came up for air and took a few strokes before encountering a sharp pain in my hand.

Suddenly, I was violently tugged towards the bottom of the ocean —  a Bull shark had sunk its teeth into my hand.

I frantically shook my arm, forcing the animal to release its grip. I popped my head up only to realize that the nearest medical attention was back on the island — 300 yards away. 

I felt alone and afraid as I kicked in the deep water, nearly panicking at the sight of my now-mangled hand. I cried out for my dad, who calmly swam over, grabbed under my shoulders and towed me back to land. 

An ambulance rushed me to the hospital, where I stayed for two days and received 87 stitches. It’s safe to say that this was probably the most frightening moment of my life, but despite the trauma I faced that day, I think that there’s a lesson to be taken from it.

While my own story may seem to have no relation to Chapman’s transition from pandemic life on the surface, I promise there is a deeper meaning. 

Throughout the pandemic, my emotional state has paralleled that fateful day in Port Aransas. At that moment, treading water for dear life, I felt as if I had lost all hope. I was lonely, I was afraid for the future and I longed for the distant shore more than anything. 

The only solace I found within those churning waters was the realization that my dad was there to guide me back. When I was far too weak to carry myself to the finish, someone else was there to bear my weight.

Being back at school this year has made me realize the importance of human connection, and how much I’ve missed it. And human connection is hard; it takes effort and dedication. But, in the end, it is the only thing that fills the hole I had in my heart last year as a college freshman trying to meet new people during a global pandemic.

Chapman’s transition out of the pandemic is far from over. We are all still treading water, wounded, with the shore barely in sight. 

Our wounds will heal in time, but the only way we’ll ever make it to land is if we carry each other to the finish.