The Seaweed Habit That Saved Me

When life felt like a perpetual low tide—muddy, stuck, and unglamorous—I never thought seaweed would be my salvation. But spoiler alert: it was. No, I didn’t drop everything to become a mermaid (though, let’s be honest, that would be iconic). Instead, I adopted a habit so simple it sounds silly: every morning, I take a walk and carry one small piece of seaweed back home. Stick with me, because this habit saved more than just my mornings—it pulled me out of a funk so deep I couldn’t have thrown a metaphorical lobster trap that far down.

A Rocky Shoreline of Stuck-ness

It started after I moved back to Bar Harbor for yet another summer. It should’ve been familiar and comforting—walking the same old trails, breathing in the same salty tang of the ocean, and waving at the same dozen locals who’ve known me since I was in pigtails. And yet, I found myself staring out at Frenchman Bay, feeling less like a free spirit and more like driftwood. You know that feeling when you swipe mindlessly through streaming shows but nothing sticks, so you end up watching a documentary on competitive pumpkin growing? That was my emotional state.

I had to do something, but I didn’t know what. Therapy was one option, but island inhabitants like myself rely on what’s cheap and renewable—nature and a good old-fashioned dose of humility. That’s when I remembered my dad’s ranger wisdom: “Life’s solutions are usually smaller than you think.”

How the Seaweed Habit Started

Seaweed and I go way back. Growing up, the stuff was kind of magical—stretching slimy, green strands across a tidepool to make pretend "bridges" or turning bladderwrack pods into mini water balloons. But this time, it was different.

On a foggy morning walk, I noticed a single piece of seaweed lying at my feet, draped on the line between high and low tide. For reasons unexplained even to myself, I picked it up. I didn’t want to keep it—there’s only so much kelp décor a person can have before their bathroom starts looking like a merfolk spa—but I carried it with me as I continued my walk.

And, wouldn’t you know it, I felt better. Not “dancing down the sidewalk” better—more like “this vague insurmountable feeling of being wildly unmoored is now at a manageable simmer” better. I could’ve chalked it up to ocean magic or serotonin science, but instead, I tried the “take seaweed, feel less ‘blah’” experiment the next day. Then the day after that. And the day after that.

Why It Works

Lugging a slippery piece of seaweed along every morning may sound ridiculous, but hear me out. This habit tapped into a few core principles that I didn't realize I needed:

  • Ritual Without Pressure: I wasn’t solving world hunger. I wasn’t even committing to journaling three pages a day à la The Artist’s Way. It was just me and a single action—walking, choosing my seaweed, carrying it home, then appreciating the feel of starting my day with intention.

  • A Rare, Wild Connection: The seaweed I pick up each morning grew wildly under the waves. Think about that for a second: this delicate macroalgae spent its life surviving the sharp-swung pendulum between surging tides and relentless churn before quietly showing up for me like an unsung hero. It’s humbling.

  • Momentum Matters: Carrying the weight of a task—even one as insignificant as shepherding a strand of rockweed—plants you firmly in the Now. You’re not stuck analyzing the Past or panicking about the Future. You’re here, walking, with seaweed squishing softly in your hand as gulls argue overhead.

  • Small Achievements: I also realized that sometimes, the small goals (like reclaiming one piece of seaweed from the beach) are the manageable building blocks for tackling bigger “stuff” in life.

Lessons for a Spiraling Heart

And here’s where the practicality really crept in. Toting seaweed on my walks taught me things I hadn’t expected to learn—lessons with tentacles that extended to other areas of my life, especially relationships. Trust me, when you’re living on an island where half the people are married to their high school sweethearts and the other half are seasonal workers who “don’t believe in cuffing season,” the insights come in clutch.

  1. Let the Shoreline Do Its Thing
    Relationships, whether new or old, can be like the tidal zone—messy, in flux, and full of treasures if you’re willing to take your time sifting through the muck. That seaweed didn’t magically appear right at my feet. It took a rhythm. A letting-go. The same is true for love—sometimes, you can’t force a low tide into being or chase a high tide that’s already out of reach.

  2. Embrace Awkward Wins
    There’s an irony in lugging wet plant matter home that hasn’t escaped me. It’s an objectively weird thing to do. But here’s the thing: sometimes the habits that make you the happiest look ridiculous to the outside world. Case in point, some of my happiest memories involve leaving 19 voicemails trying to convince someone I had a “fun and quirky” personality when, in reality, I was mostly terrified. The point? Let yourself be ridiculous—embrace the awkward.

  3. Find Beauty in Small Acts of Care
    A good relationship thrives on the simple habits—checking in, a well-timed cup of coffee, remembering the annoyingly specific way they like their toast (looking at you, seven-setting toaster owners). Just as I deliberate over which strand of seaweed to choose—long? Round? Slimy but elegant?—we measure connection in these small, tender ways.

Waves of Change

So, has hauling ocean ephemera every morning turned me into Maine’s answer to Moana? Hardly. But it did bring me back to myself. That little ritual, born of habit and carried into a lifestyle, gave me permission to pause, to notice, and to listen—even if I’m just listening to my damp boots squelch against the rocky path.

For you, maybe it’s not seaweed. Maybe it’s your six-string guitar gathering dust in the corner, or the pandemic sourdough starter you swore you’d conquer but abandoned after four loaves. Maybe it’s walking your dog an extra five minutes or finally finishing the puzzle that’s been haunting you since January. Whatever it is, I hope you find your own small reminder that sometimes the tiniest habits can heal vast spaces inside us.

And next time you bet on a habit that saves your life? Raise a piece of seaweed in quiet celebration. I’ll be doing the same—with a strand of Atlantic kelp, naturally.