How a 2.4-Mile Ocean Swim Changed My Life

On this episode of Our American Stories, in 2009, Scott Stewart found himself spiritually, emotionally, and financially broken. Sixteen years later, a 2.4-mile open-water swim off Cape May, New Jersey, became the moment everything came into focus.

Scott shares how one extraordinary day in the ocean transformed years of quiet spiritual growth into a life-changing awakening. We'd like to thank our regular contributor, Leslie Leyland Fields, whose book Write Your Story, Change Your Life features Scott's story.

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:10):
This is Lee Habib and this is our American Stories.
Up next, a story from Scott Stewart. Scott's a writing
student of our regular contributor Leslie leyland Fields. Scott's story
today is entitled Waves of Awakening.

Speaker 2 (00:25):
Take it Away, Scott. There are moments in life when
the soul stirs and subtle truths come into sharp focus.
My spiritual awakening had been unfolding quietly for some time,
whispering through everyday experiences. But during a recent two point
four mile ocean swim, it erupted into full realization. I

(00:50):
both knew it was coming and couldn't imagine it all
at the same time, I'm still glowing with God's grace,
and I want you to feel it too. My journey
started some sixteen years earlier, in the summer of two
thousand and nine, I was bankrupt, morally, spiritually, financially. Curled

(01:14):
in the fetal position on the kitchen floor, I cried
for help. Help arrived in the form of a simple prayer,
more of a request. I had been cloaked in a
blanket of guilt and shame, of crippling low self esteem
for most of my life. It was what I knew
It was comfortable and warm, But serenity doesn't grow in

(01:36):
comfort and warmth. It grows from challenge, from relying on
something greater than ourselves in the face of fear and uncertainty.
It all came together this day. It starts with Sean
career Navy guy, beach patrol, open water, A total beast.

(01:57):
We graduated high school together. Connects us. But it's more
than that. He's the kind of friend who doesn't listen
to excuses, doesn't coddle, He doesn't ask if you're ready.
He hit me up. Let's do that. Kate May two
point four mile swim. You and me, we got this.
I didn't hesitate. I just said I'm in Monday morning.

(02:27):
No wishy washy, no mental gymnastics, just a quiet, grounded truth.
This is a thing, and I do this thing. The
two hour drive to kate May felt like a pilgrimage.
I listened to Richard Rohor. His words made me think
of my beautiful aunt Beck. She raised me. She's my

(02:48):
reference point for what it means to dedicate your life
to God, not perform it and body it. Her faith
wasn't loud, it was lived. The weather was beautiful. I'd
call it perfect. The time came. We were standing at

(03:08):
the water's edge, just him and me. Sean stood silent
for a moment, unusual for a guy like him. In
that moment, he was reverent. In that silence, something shifted.
It was surreal. In that moment, he wasn't just my
swim partner, he was my witness. He looked out at

(03:31):
the horizon, then back at me. His voice was low
and steady. Let's go. We stepped forward together, shoulder to shoulder.
The sun was exceptionally bright, with not a cloud in
the sky. A more perfect day there simply could not be.
The water met us with force, waste, high and rising,

(03:54):
but we didn't flinch. This wasn't about distance. It was
about declaration, not who I was. I am ready. I
know a few things about open water swimming enough to know.
You don't know anything. You can't anticipate the cold, you

(04:15):
can't predict the clarity. You don't know if a fish
will dark beneath you, or if your goggles will fog
up in the first five minutes. You don't know if
your breath will catch or your body will betray you.
Halfway through all of that mind noise, a waste of energy.
The benchmark was eight hundred yards. Get there. Breathe, relax,

(04:39):
control what I can control, attitude and effort. For God's sakes,
stay calm. I didn't fight the water. I joined it.
The first eight hundred yards, no checkpoint, just the buzz
of my watch. The water was clear, cold, honest. We've
made it past the break and turned right. The waves

(05:01):
didn't crash, it pulsed, relentless. From sure. They looked the tame.
I laugh at myself now, thinking they'd be manageable. This
was no easy task. The ocean didn't care about my prep,
my mindset, my rituals. It just kept coming, undulating, testing,

(05:27):
the water kept rolling. I thought about seasickness. The way
the waves tossed me, not violently, but rhythmically, like being
rocked by a force that didn't care if I found
my balance. But I kept swimming despite the chaos. I
found rhythm. Sometimes it lasted five six strokes, then a
crosswave would steal it, but I'd find it again. The

(05:51):
ocean wasn't punishing me. It was testing me, offering me
a chance. And then it hit me, I'm doing it.
I'm out here. Experience in this not watching, not wishing,
not talking about it, living it. About halfway through the swim,
the physical challenge of the ocean gave way to a

(06:13):
sareene clarity. Each breath I took was filled with gratitude.
Each movement was purposeful, and my mind was no longer
cluttered with worries or doubts. I felt intimately connected to
the water. In that moment, I understood how every experience,
every struggle, and every joy had led to this exact point.

(06:34):
The ocean became a metaphor for the journey of awakening, vast,
sometimes turbulent, but always beautiful and full of possibility. We
were out here together, not as a teacher and student,
not as a Navy swimmer and guard coach, just two
men in the water, holding our own. The ocean didn't

(06:56):
care who had more experience. It cared who showed up.
I wasn't just surviving, I was swimming, matching pace, matching presence.
We passed landmarks like mile markers on a pilgrimage. The
Grand Hotel, Congress Hall, Convention Hall, each one a signal
we're moving. We were in it. Way off in the distance,

(07:19):
the Cape May Lighthouse stood like a sentinel Sean pointed
toward it. Use that, he said, sight off that and
stay left of the jetties. Just past the second jetty,
I turned for shore. I don't know how I got
there so fast, maybe the tides, maybe grace. But there
I was, turning toward land. Sean was out of sight,

(07:41):
but that didn't matter. It was just me, the ocean,
and the final strokes of this epic journey. The waves
grew larger as I approached, the kind you see from
the shore, but now I was meeting them from the
other side. I tried to catch one, too big, too strong,
rolled under me, passed me, indifferent. I was a speck

(08:04):
in their ocean, and then done. I did it. Since
that swim, every day feels imbued with meaning. I carry
within me the lessons of the waves, resilience, surrender, and trust.

(08:27):
My spiritual awakening continues to evolve. But it was in
the water, surrounded by nature's power and beauty, that I
finally realized its depth and significance.

Speaker 1 (08:53):
And a terrific job on the production, editing and storytelling
by our own Monty Montgomery and Reagan Habib, and a
special thanks to Scott Stuart and as always, Leslie Leyland
Fields for doing what she does, which is get people
to tell their stories. And she's been one of our
best storytellers too, from Kodiak Island, Alaska. And what a

(09:15):
story we heard here. The ocean became a metaphor for
my awakening. I was not in the water holding my
own I wasn't merely surviving. I was swimming. And indeed,
during that swim came a spiritual awakening. And this is
why we love so many Americans, are encounters with nature,
stripping away everything else and just leaning on God and

(09:39):
feeling and seeing God all around us. The story of
Scott Stuart Waves of Awaken here on our American Stories