There is quiet
For just a moment
A yellow sky”
~ “Hurricane”, from the musical, Hamilton
There is something about a lighthouse:
solid, sturdy, guiding.
A check against uncertainty and disaster;
a path to safe harbor;
a testament to fortitude and the value of service.
There is something about a map:
informative, reassuring.
An insurance against ignorance;
a reminder of one’s place.
There is something about a dream:
inspiring.
A flame chasing away shadows to reveal what lies within.
(This is the 3rd installment of a series introducing my blog.
The sea is beautiful, awesome, and terrifying. Great power resides in it, endless treasures lie in its depths. Mighty waves can lift you up, and then wreck you upon hidden reefs, while currents can bear you to faraway lands, where you discover new worlds and satisfy old dreams. Invoking uncertainty and opportunity, the expanse of that deep blue world meets the endless heavens at the horizon. Such vastness can hold you spellbound. And can command you to venture out. In the end, it inspires my creativity, and beckons me to embark upon it.
The sea calls to me.
The sea calls to me.
When my thirteen-year teaching career ended, a hurricane struck. How did I respond? I built a row boat. And when the eye of the hurricane passed overhead, I pushed my makeshift creation into the sea, and began pulling at the oars. It was a poorly crafted, dinky little thing, leaking and creaking in the surf. And I, with no experience on the open ocean, was steering it. The calm passed, the storm returned. And the voyage ended with the boat sinking, and my unconscious body washing up on shore.
That was my first attempt at blogging.
But the sea is a tempting mistress, and entices wayward sailors with wild promises. And I was not going to give up. It would also seem that the Universe had not to given up on me. I had to change, that much was obvious. The Universe had made it quite clear. In fact, it had sent someone who taught me, “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results.” But how to go about changing myself in a way that would allow the better results to last?
Through my lighthouses, maps, and dreams.
My paths up and down the coastline, and out across the sea, were obscured by my emotions and memories. I needed a guiding light to pierce the gloom and doubt. The Universe responded with a multitude of lighthouses, serviced by people, books, ideas, stories, and advice. The experience of a weekly meeting led by a short, older Italian lady. A little blue book on the shelf at the local library. The convergence of science, philosophy, history, and psychology into a theory that explained my feelings and failings. Confessions from online people whom I have never met, and probably never will. A reminder from older, wiser friends on where to search for happiness.
They all lit the way, and I chose to follow them.
Maps have always fascinated me, which is why it is no surprise that I turned to them for direction. But maps are not just paper with lines and forms. Some times it is a book about habits, or the power of taking positive steps. A podcast about art, or fascinating accounts about US history. Other times it is a class about teaching, and stories about failing miserably. Explanations from a professional performer, or an outline from an expert on how to meet, greet, and listen. Finally, it is a series of online essays by some stranger explaining how to communicate honestly.
They all showed the way, and I chose to pursue them.
Dreaming is what I do best. It arises from my daily interactions with people, places, and things. Catching smiles on friendly faces as I enter a room. Seeing dancers leaping across stage, hearing singers chanting catchy show tunes. Watching a series of folk and pop songs from foreign lands on YouTube. Reading a collection of multi-colored Post-It notes from classmates. Witnessing children taking an interest in your own past hobbies. Finding inspiring documentaries about hiking, dancing, poetry, and sushi. And searching for clues hidden away in boxes scattered across rooms.
They all revealed the way, and I chose to embrace them.
Five years ago, when the storm had finally passed, I was left cold, drenched, and ruined. But then I decided to change how I was going to react to this situation. The Universe responded. My way was made clear. I had a plan. The fog of self-doubt had lifted.
And it only took half a lifetime of mistakes to uncover it, an indomitable will to change it, and five years of deep introspection to figure it out.
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