Friday, September 28, 2012
our house is a sailboat
It's like time stood still just long enough for us to open up to bliss and savor before we were thrown on board on this whirlwind thing; no, *these* whirlwind things. "Weary legged," a friend of mine said the other day over coffee, commenting on how she personally felt this fall after an intense stretch of professional change.
I've always thought of our house as my sanctuary, but what happens when there's a whirlwind of change going on at home too?
I saw my therapist again earlier this week after more than three months off, savoring said bliss. She encouraged me to think of where home is in all of this. She left me with that question, but at a later point in the conversation she started talking about sailboats. I can't remember what the context was, but then it struck me: some people live on boats! Some people live on boats with sails!
Now, I'm not much of a sailor, but from my experience, when the sailboat moves really fast, it doesn't necessarily feel like you need to hold on so much as it feels like you need to align yourself with the winds and the waves to sail smoothly.
I lived on a houseboat one summer in Seattle while still in grad school, housesitting for a professor. I remember walking to campus after the weekend, feeling the solidness of the ground strange in its fixedness.
Sailing fast doesn't necessarily leave a person weary legged; sometimes it's the most beautiful and serene thing to do, even as it invigorates; even as it takes you far away.
In the days and weeks ahead to come, I'm going to approach life more with this mindset: where I not so much grasp for something to hold onto, but tune into the waves and the winds that will help glide me forward.