The wake you don’t see

I’m on this ferry, phone in hand doing the tourist thing, when I notice these seagulls. They’re not just flying around randomly—they’re pacing the boat. Staying right alongside us, almost like they’re in formation.

At first I think it’s charming. Birds following the ferry, very scenic. Then I actually watch what they’re doing.

The boat cuts through the water and creates these waves, right? And those waves churn everything up. Fish that were swimming peacefully suddenly get pushed to the surface. Disoriented. Exposed. And the seagulls—they’re just waiting. They swoop down, grab the fish, and when they get tired, they land on the ferry railing to rest before going back to hunting.

So the boat becomes their entire operation. It’s their hunting tool and their rest stop.

And I’m standing there with my coffee thinking: I’m on vacation. These birds are working. Those fish are dying. Same boat, same moment, completely different realities happening at once.

The ferry isn’t trying to help the seagulls. It’s just moving people across water. The seagulls aren’t thinking about the fish’s experience. The fish have no idea a tourist boat is the reason their world just got turned upside down.

Nobody’s thinking about the system. Everyone’s just in their own moment.

And that’s when it hit me—this is always happening. We’re always in the middle of systems we can’t see because we’re part of them.

You have a conversation that feels completely normal to you, and you have no idea it shifts something fundamental for the other person. You make a decision that’s just you solving your own puzzle, and it cascades into changes for people you’ll never know about. Someone else makes a choice that has nothing to do with you, and suddenly your whole week or month or year looks different.

We move through life thinking we’re seeing what’s happening. But we’re only ever seeing our part. The tourist sees a boat ride. The seagull sees a feeding ground. The fish sees chaos. All true. All incomplete.

I think about how much energy I’ve spent trying to figure out why things happened. Why did that relationship end? Why did this work out so easily? Why did I feel so off that whole month? And I’m always looking for the answer in my actions, my decisions, my worth.

But what if most of it was just… wake? Someone else creating waves I got caught in. Or me creating waves I never noticed.

That relationship that drifted apart—you spend months replaying conversations, analyzing what you did wrong. But maybe they were dealing with a parent’s illness, or their own depression, or something that started years before they met you. You were just there when the wave hit.

Or it goes the other way. You feel amazing, everything clicks, your energy is great. And you think “I’ve finally figured it out, I’m doing everything right.” But maybe your friend moved closer and you’re seeing them more. Maybe the season changed and you’re getting more sunlight. Maybe you’re just in a good phase and taking credit for timing.

You can drive yourself crazy trying to find meaning in your corner of the picture when the actual story is ten times bigger and you’re only holding one piece.

And here’s the strange part: you’re doing the same thing to other people. Your ordinary Tuesday is someone else’s turning point. Your offhand comment stuck with someone for years. Your decision to show up or cancel, to reach out or give space—it rippled out in ways you’ll never know.

Not because you’re important or powerful. Just because you’re in motion and motion creates wake.

I don’t think there’s a lesson here exactly. Or maybe there are too many lessons and everyone takes what they need.

For me, standing on that ferry, it was something like: hold it all a little lighter. The good stuff isn’t all you. The hard stuff isn’t all you. You’re in something bigger and more interconnected than you can see from inside it.

When things go well, stay humble—you don’t know what conditions made it possible.

When things go badly, stay sane—you don’t know what waves you’re caught in that have nothing to do with you.

When you’re moving through your life, stay aware—you’re churning up something whether you mean to or not.

The ferry keeps moving. The seagulls keep hunting. The fish keep swimming until they don’t.

And somewhere, someone’s having their coffee, thinking it’s just a nice boat ride.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​