Making It

“You bought a boat, then advertised for sailing lessons?” Not quite, Mister Skeptic. You may go now.

But, yes, I am taking lessons again, after putting up a notice in the marina office. Docking was on the agenda for the first one, very different from catching a mooring ball. Concrete to ram into, for one thing. Which I didn’t. Ha.

You are a natural, whispers Courage. Of course Fear is such a screamer that it’s hard to hear most of the time. But my Capability Swagger turns up now and again anyway.

“You surf?” asked another skeptic.

I am sitting at the bus-stop, bagged board beside me, wearing my new yolk-yellow long skirt and a ridiculously large sunhat. “Sí,” I say tartly, and he walks on.

Face the wave, said Pluck at the break this morning, so I did — caught it, turned, and rode. Some days are easier than others. Face the wave. Face what is coming toward you. Face reality. You can handle it. You have handled it.

“Are you sad you didn’t make it?” asked my mother a few years ago.

“Make what?” I didn’t ask, because I thought I knew what she meant. Make the Big Time. Fame. Celebrity. It cut me. My mother thinks I’m a loser. But maybe not. Maybe she recognized my talent, even as she was jealous and critical of it. 

But yesterday I started Habibi’s engine and motored off the dock. Today I caught waves. You can keep Hollyweird. I’ve got the Ocean. I’ve got it made.