Unfurling

“Everything that makes me who I am is a gift.” —Tammie Jo Shults, jet captain, Nerves of Steel.

The jib is tightly wound, and so am I. We both need to relax and unfurl. I loosened the lines holding the sail, and for me, I found a nearby swimming hole. On my fifth visit, someone stole the yellow knapsack that held a change of clothes, including my hot pink Capitana shirt. Is it a sign? Are my sailing days over? It’s an option. Perhaps I’ll buy a casita with room for a horse.

Yesterday I walked for miles along shore before plopping down in the shallow reef. A snail the size of my pinky nail cruised along the bottom, feelers out, unperturbed by the Hindenburg hovering above (me). Small silvery fish darted away as I breaststroked, as well as a flock of small rays (do they sting?!). A little underwater jungle with seaweeds in a variety of colors, including brilliant orange, kept my attention until I almost bumped into a pair of human legs. A woman from Turkey and her daughter, so friendly. As are most folks, when not distracted by Anxiety.

Compassion came to call last week, for myself and others. Life can be so difficult for so many and our behaviors reflect that. The self-described needy guy doesn’t mean to be a patronizing jerk—it ain’t personal. Nor is the jealousy of a dock-worker. Their chaos is not my chaos. As an empath, it’s sometimes hard for me to discern others’ emotions from my own. Meditation helps, as well as the Sea. And creating art, of course. I found a box of colored chalks in the cruisers’ lounge. Now Habibi’s slip features hearts and waves and little fishes, as well as the hose and power cord and a neighbor’s wagon.

Unfurling takes time. I’m still processing the events following my mother’s transition, as well as the recent four storms I sailed through. Patience. Not usually my strong suit, but hell, I’ll give it a whirl. After all, I’m still here.