swimming the halocline

I am running a family trip right now which means that my life pretty much means guiding a really really nice Danish family through the Yucatan. And because they are so nice we didn't go to Tulum (overrated) and instead ended up swimming the afternoon away in Yal-ku lagoon in Akumal. It is the kind of place where giant parrot fish like to come hang out and the kind of place that makes me incredibly happy. The reason I like it so much is because of the halocline, the meeting of cold freshwater from underground rivers and the warm water from the sea. When the two waters mix everything becomes a swirling blurred vision. But if you dive below the point where the two waters meet it suddenly becomes crystal clear. Somehow in that swirling green water, chasing parrot fish, I felt totally at home.
I've been down here for nearly 10 months now and though this is not completely home, I have a sense that neither is California. I worry that no place will ever completely hold me, that I will always feel a longing for another place. Maybe that is just the curse of the vagabond.
Somehow the image of the two waters, both clear on their own but hazy upon mixing feels like my position in the world. Some people live in fresh water and things are very clear for them. Some people live in the sea and things are very clear for them too. And some people live in the halocline, and though we catch sight of clarity at times, more often we live in the haziness of being able to live in both environments.
Lately life has been teaching me that no way is right, no way is better than another, everything just is. As we learn to accept the way things are, the way we are, my haziness is no longer a curse, but a thing of beauty. So that is where I find myself, swimming along in the beautiful confusion of the halocline.