An Exploration of Lake Versus Ocean Culture
By Sydney Lanyon
It was Leonardo da Vinci who first said, “Water is the driving force of all nature.” Yet, for all its foundational importance, water largely remains paradoxical—it’s simultaneously the most familiar substance on all of earth and the most mysterious, shaping not only landscapes, but the very individuals, cultures, and lifeforms that emerge along its edges. Imagine the familiarity of the first wave of heat ushering in the onset of summer, that weight settling over the city; suddenly the concentrated energy of city life begins to dilute, people that mirror the flow of tributaries that find the cooler corners of distant shores.
Most people are familiar with both lakes and oceans—can conjure images of each—yet when it comes to personal memory and longing, one inevitably calls to you more deeply than the other. To own a lake house is to claim a piece of stillness, a retreat that becomes family shorthand. Lakes often carry an aura of permanence, carved by ancient forces, surrounded by cabins, handed down through generations of summer vacations.
To place yourself beside a lake is to feel steady, reminiscent of roots deepening into accustomed soil. The ocean, however, refuses to be possessed. One may visit, one may admire, and one may look forward to it time and time again, but if you allow its restlessness to become your own, you likely find that you never quite belong. And maybe that is its charm—a reminder that beauty can be borrowed but never owned.
The evocation within an oceanfront is different—it feels slightly less like possession and more like glimpsing an encounter with the infinite. To own a beachfront is to inhabit the boundary of the knowable. Oceans tend to compel one towards motion. They erode, they swallow coastlines, they give and they take. To stand before the ocean is to be reminded of your own insignificance, to understand that you are fleeting while it is endless.
This distinction might explain why water continues to be humanity’s most reliable compass, offering both sanctuary and adventure, permanence and impermanence, depending on what our soul requires at any given moment. After all, water—in all its forms—remains one of our most honest teachers. It’s a force we think we understand until we don’t, much like the way we assume we know ourselves until new waters test the boundaries of who we thought we were.
And, like most things in life, you control the depth of engagement. You can simply enjoy the view, or you can let the water reshape something fundamental about how you see yourself and the world. After all, in the end, the water will be there regardless…
