“I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship.” (Louisa May Alcott)
This quote, long known to me, has been in my mind lately. It occurred to me yesterday that overall, though, I feel a strange combination of storm-tossed and run aground. Both whipped around in a frenzy of wind and water, but also stuck, unable to move. This contradiction underlies a tension, I think, that I’ve written about before: the feeling of holding opposite poles in my hands simultaneously. The middle place, I guess. Stuck and lost. At the same time or alternating with an awkward rhythm.
Neither of these feelings is comfortable, and they both entail my Greatest Fear: being out of control. In the storm, I often feel unsafe, buffeted on all sides by influences whose intentions I am not sure of, by events and powers that I do not understand. But when run aground, I feel stuck, trapped, unable to move towards that life I am increasingly sure I want.
“A ship is safe in the harbor, but that is not what ships are built for.” (unknown)
All of the fear around being lost in the storm or stuck on the shoals could easily drive me to seek refuge in a safe, protected place. And oh how I know the feeling of wanting someone to keep the world at bay for me. But then I remind myself: this is not where life is lived. It is the moments when I’ve let go, gone on the (metaphorical) roller coaster, opened my heart up to the inevitable bruising … this is where I have felt most alive. And in truth? Most of the harbors I have known have become their own traps after a while.
“I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky.” (John Masefield)
Hiding, retreating: this is not the solution. The sea – the storm, the wind, the rain, the water, sharp shells in the shallows that can cut you - this is where life is. In the mess, the unpredictable patterns, the haunting call of seagulls and the rhythmic snapping of halyards against masts. In the squeals of children splashing at the water’s edge, in Grace’s incandescent grin when she swam to the distant raft by herself, in the flash of white sails in the sunlight as they pass by.
These thoughts of the sea remind me of my parents, always, powerfully. I close with one of my Dad’s favorite poems, which I also deeply love. It reminds me of what I have always known: that the sea, as disorderly and uncontrollable as it is, is also home. We cannot control the tempestuous ocean of this life. Better to cast out to sea.
Crossing the Bar (Alfred, Lord Tennyson)
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
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17 Comments
Oh Lindsey, just beautiful.
And water moves, it freezes, it seeps, floods and recedes. And, I guess, so do we…
I am sneaking of with all of these quotes, as I head into turbulent seas next week…. and thanks for the link to Meg. Yet another wonderful woman…
Off to the life I am still dreaming of… smooth seas and soft skies to you…
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I hope you don’t mind…I wrote a post about A Design So Vast today…Thank you for it.
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admin Reply:
April 16th, 2010 at 6:27 am
Wow, of course I don’t mind – I am completely flabbergasted and wholly honored. Thank you! Thank you!
(and you live in Boston!!??)
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Tricia Reply:
April 16th, 2010 at 6:41 am
Sudbury, now. My comments are heartfelt!
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What a beautiful read for a Friday morning. Thank you.
And this: “A ship is safe in the harbor, but that is not what ships are built for.” (unknown) needs to be up on a wall somewhere
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That quote – about ships in the harbor – was our Senior Class quote and the pivot point of my Valedictory speech in 1989. Lovely post Lindsey – just try to enjoy the ride. If you get seasick, throw-up and then start over again.
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“It is the moments when I’ve let go, gone on the (metaphorical) roller coaster, opened my heart up to the inevitable bruising … this is where I have felt most alive. And in truth? Most of the harbors I have known have become their own traps after a while.”
That’s been my experience as well. But it’s still so hard to let go, to resist the urge to play it ever safe.
Another beautiful post, my friend.
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Stuck or lost or a bit of both, your writing gets better and better.
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It’s important to remember, too, that you’re not at sea alone. You’ve got, quite literally, your ship mates. Turn to them when it gets tempestuous.
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Holy hell, no one articulates contradictions as beautifully or as bravely as you do, Lindsey.
Better to cast out to sea, indeed.
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Like Jo, I am struck by this line in particular: “Most of the harbors I have known have become their own traps after a while.”
While I know this to be true intellectually, I’m not sure that it has been my experience emotionally. In the past, I was often drawn to the storm instead of the harbor. I may have been living a more extreme version of my life, but I’m not sure that I was any happier or any more fulfilled.
But, you know, I don’t know how to swim very well, so maybe the harbor is a literal and metaphor realm of safety for me.
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Lindsey — I had long had it that the author of the ship in harbor quote was Admiral Grace Murray Hopper. But in fact it seems to be one John A. Shedd, from a 1928 book called “Salt From My Attic” (http://www.quotationspage.com/quote/34287.html).
And I can’t resist offering a fulcrum and a lever to your fear of losing control, in the form of a quote from Antonio Machado (translated by Robert Bly):
Mankind owns four things that are no good at sea:
rudder, anchor, oars, and the fear of going down.
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reminds me of “El Dorado” by Edgar Allen Poe, a poem about finding the inner strength to live courageously. Harbors can provide shelter when that is needed, but only on the high seas will we experience the thrill of life, is that what you are saying? I’d totally agree.
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While I resonate to the metaphors on the one hand, I cannot think of boats without thinking of Dramamine on the other hand. I don’t really fear sinking, but rather puking… sometimes I even get dizzy on land when I think about how fast the earth is spinning. Yet I’m fascinated by “Moby Dick” and the watery part of the world in general, inner perhaps more than outer (and there I remain tied to the mast).
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Once again, I just love it. I don’t even know what to say. I just love it.
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Just hang on, chica. The queasiness passes and the view from top of the mast is amazing. Just keep sailing.
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As always I find myself truly drawn in by your writing. I think we find ourselves facing many of the same turmoils in our life. For me, as you know, it’s the feeling of the cliff, but like you describe, it’s a fear of two extremes that we can’t seem to connect, that exist at polar opposites and yet are so tightly woven into who we are. “This is where life is…in the mess.” Yes! But, why, oh why, must it be like this?
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Wow I’m literally the first reply to your amazing writing.
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If only more than 53 people would hear about this..
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