This post started about a year ago, when I was having lunch with a dear friend and he was telling me about a woman who had stolen his heart with her bad dye job, outrageous clothes and disarming smile. He had her number. I asked when he was going to call her. He ducked his head, sort of smiled, said, “You know me.”
I do know him. I waited. I deliberately made him uncomfortable with my silence, and I bore into him with my “Come on, Champ, you can do this” stare. Eventually he looked up. His eyes met mine and then broke my heart. He said, “I don’t want to rock the boat, j. You can’t fall in if you just sit still.”
He was hurting. His mother had died a few months before after a prolonged and painful illness, he was trying to find a workable relationship with his father, his doctor had just prescribed antidepressants. I reached out and touched his arm. I’d have hugged him if not for the table between us. I said I understood… but I was lying. The truth is, even knowing all I knew, everything about his statement felt wrong to me.
Why even have a boat, I thought, not entirely sure of our metaphor but jumping on board anyway, if you aren’t going to occasionally jump right out of it and swim for all you’re worth.
Since that conversation, I’ve heard so many angst-ridden (or sometimes bravely indifferent) variations on the theme: people who’ve been hurt and are unwilling to risk further damage.
I said I didn’t understand my friend’s philosophy, but that’s not entirely true. I understand that wounds need a chance to heal. I understand that healing is a messy, unpredictable business; you just never know when nursing one wound will open a hundred more. And when you’re done, or at least done enough to limp back into your life, a battered soldier of love, I know how unsightly the scars can be.
So who can blame you, really, if you decide to call it quits. “I’ll never go through that again” is not only an understandable response, but a perfectly logical one as well. It reminds me of the old joke where the man tells his doctor, “It hurts when I do this.” The advice, and our own impulse to stop “doing this,” make sense. But when I hear someone tell me they’re done with love (or their art, or their dreams, or their trust in people, or their sense of adventure), I want to… well, I want to push them out of the boat.
I am not unsympathetic, but at the risk of beating a dead metaphor, I know how it feels to sit still in the boat. I know the lure of “safe.” But I also know how lonely it is, how, in stillness, muscles atrophy. I know how you can stop living, but life itself doesn’t stop, and it’s a horrible moment when suddenly you feel it passing swiftly beneath and around you, and the only thing you can say for sure is that your boat never tipped.
I’ve been in both places. I’ve been rocked and tossed and battered by life and I’ve been safe and sound in the boat. If I had to choose between them, I’d choose to swim, but – and here’s the best part – I don’t have to choose. I know the boat is a place to rest, to heal. I know there are times when it’s best to stay on the boat. For a while. And then I know there’s a time to stand up, however unsteadily, bare my scars like the badges they are, and swan dive back into my life.
I don’t know how to swan dive. I’ll try, but a belly flop is more likely, and that’s okay. You don’t get points for a perfect dive, you get a life by diving at all.
Wild
So true. You have to be a part of life to grow. Great post.
That’s so sad. I hope your friend has found happiness. Isn’t it so much easier though to curl up in the boat and let life drift by. It’s because life can be so unpredictably painful. I only wish I knew why but if we were meant to know we would have found out by now.
Ahhhh. This is what I am here for.
I love that you say your boat is a place to heal. I love, love, love that you share the fact that we don’t have to chose we can do both. Nice. This is sound, amazing, awesome J Wisdom!!!!
I also think that while I am in my boat healing and resting I can also maybe take the time to listen to the doctor . . . ya know the one that says, “don’t do that.” Because ok, maybe I should not be doing that—exactly that, but maybe there is a way to tweak it. Maybe not doing the SAME EXACT thing that causes/d the pain, but that doesn’t mean stop moving/stop living, right? Maybe I just need to adjust. So while I am in m’boat I can think of tweaking and adjusting.
This post is fabulous. Thank you. Love it! Love it! Love it!
Kevin, I agree. (I love when you pop in.)
Rosalind, It’s easier until that moment when you truly feel the reality of life passing you by, and then it’s terrifying. Or it was for me. Worse than my reasons for having climbed in the boat.
Terre, True enough. I think sometimes it’s so hard to know what to change, what is the thing you keep doing wrong, that it’s easier to retreat. Easier… but not better. I’m convinced of that. Thank you for all the comment love. <3
Excellent post. I have dealt with so many people who are just sitting in their boats, watching the shore (i.e. world) go past, too broken and scared to even dip their toes in, much less jump in and see what’s really going on over there.
I’ve made stupid decisions that I’ve regretted later, but I’ve never really regretted the decision to take the risk. Risk it what keeps life interesting (he says, having stepped out of his safe and secure career to go back to school at age 49).
Judy, this is one of your best. Perhaps THE best. Keep it up!
A friend thought I’d written this post so that’s how I found your site:) live the name of your blog :). I hope you’ll drop by sometime….ps I’d love to share this on my blog if you’d be ok with that? You can email me at nolongeravictim1@gmail.com if you’re interested!
Yup! So very true, I actually visualize that boat J. Rockin’ and rollin’ at times, lightning and thunder, waves all around….if you hang on tight enough and prepare yourself to maybe jump and swim, you’ll be ok.
What came to my mind first and foremost was starting my little blog. THAT hurt…now a few months later the pain actually turned into a source of happiness and pride with a teeny, tiny bit of confidence attached to it.
Did your friend ever ask that adorable creature out? If so, I hope they fell madly in love and lived happily ever after.
Great post, sorry I am so inconsistant lately with reading and commenting. Love you xoxo
Damn, now that song “Rock The Boat” is playing in my head….thanks J!
Tom, Me too. And it truly breaks my heart because some of the people holding back are so wonderful, we’d all benefit if they jumped in and swam with us. And you – despite your endless stacks of books with colorful post it tabs, and papers being written at all hours of the night and morning – are an inspiration. Thank you so much for making time for me.
Susan, Thank you for commenting. I will absolutely drop by. Perhaps mere moments from now!
Joanne, Sadly, my friend did not ask the dream girl out. He’s made some other great leaps in the last year, but taking a chance on love… well, I’m still working on him. And don’t worry. I’m remiss on my blog dancing too. (I love your blog! You should be more than a little proud of it!)
Still in my boat today, and the sea is 90% my salty tears. I am so sure I’ll drown that I’m determined to make my little craft into a snug houseboat. I’ll invite my friends over for the weekend, and my pet seabeasties will feast on the heartbreakers lurking in the waves. Yup, nice boat. I’ll paint it blue and call it ZebraDreams :) I’m going to do a session with Penache Desai next week, perhaps he will show me how to float again? Hugs & thanks for a great post. Again.
Aawww, J, I love you, I admire and respect you, I am in total awe of you! In many, if not most, areas of life, I will belly flop on into the water while holding my nose. {Maybe that’s why I can’t do a swan dive? I just hate getting water up my nose.} I am going to disappoint you though by saying that I am not willing to get out of the boat again for romantic love. In fact, I’ve just pulled my boat into the dry dock so that there’s no way I’ll end up in the water again on that one. Sometimes the wounds are just too deep. I still love YOU, though! *BIG HUGS*
Looks like a really good dive to me j. (wink)
Absolutely beautiful post – those are all the words that I can find right now to express how I am feeling!!
Thank you j ♥
Soooooooooooo, did he ever call the girl? I saw Terre’s mention of this post and so I ‘ran’ to check it. I’m so grateful to enjoy your beautiful writing and the expression of your wisdom, as always. Of course, you guessed it, I’m keeping those seats warm in the boat ; ) I need to figure out why I’m not only doing a belly flop, I’m ripping myself to shreds in the process. To be perfectly honest, I haven’t even been getting in the boat! I will remember your words though, for certain. Better yet, I’ll have a little image in my mind of The Daring Ms. Judy with her auburn mane — giving me a glance that says ‘Come on now Girl! You can do this’ :)
a beautiful and painfully true post, j. you’ve said it all so perfectly and given me lots to think about. thank you.
Robyn, That’s so sad, but also vaguely hopeful, since maybe some little part of you still believes you can float again. And I believe it too, though I would absolutely visit your houseboat. “Zebra Dreams” makes me happy!
Dani, Maybe. Can I just say that I feel sorry for the man that could coaxed you into the water. However, I do know you are leaping in other areas and doing quite wonderful things! <3
Jeramy, Volcanic.
Christie, Thank YOU. ♥♥
Carey, He didn’t. My meaningful stares are not as powerful as I’d like them to be. And you, sweetie, are one of those wonderful people who absolutely should not be afraid to leap. How about I loan you my eyes so you can see it too?
jb, We crossed in the ether! Thank you. (Tell me if you need me to hold your hand.)
Thank you! You know why that song “Don’t Rock The Boat” is cracking me up now. We have one of “gag gift”, rubber fish on a plaque things at the camper, it sings that song when you push a button. Have you ever seen those fish things? They are pretty dang tacky. Anyway, I thought you needed to know that. xoxoxo ;) This was a wonderful blog by the way.
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Lovely. Not sure about me, my muscles may have atrophied, but thankfully there is J therapy. :o) Great post, spot on. Thanks for the reminder! xo :o)
Joanne, I do not like that song, and I would like it less sung by a fish. I do like the one from Guys and Dolls, though, “Sit down you’re rockin’ the boat.” Thank you for the singing fish image, though. (Not!)
Caroline, Hate that feeling of atrophy. Hope you start flexing your badassitude soon.
This “boat” I’m in right now…I feel stuck, lost. I want to dive right off, but I don’t know what to dive into and what for. I’m trying to act how I want to feel, but I’m not sure how long that will last. Well, at least with your words here, I’ll soon find or figure what to leap into. Beautiful post, J!
“I don’t have to choose. I know the boat is a place to rest, to heal. I know there are times when it’s best to stay on the boat. For a while. And then I know there’s a time to stand up, however unsteadily, bare my scars like the badges they are, and swan dive back into my life.”
I *love* this post, J, particularly your conclusion that there is simply no need to choose. Both options serve us well at different points in our lives. It’s up to us to know when to float and when to swim. Of course, fear often keeps us floating a lot longer than necessary or ideal, contributing not only to us missing out on life’s many offerings, but also to others missing out on what we have to offer. I was saddened to see your friend did not end up calling his dream girl, not only for him, but also for her. It’s easy to forget that when we pull up the oars and pray for calm waters, we may in fact be sending waves into someone else’s lives … someone who was willing to jump into the water and ride out the waves with us.
Thank you, Eman. I have a tendency to leap first and figure out the rest later. It’s the only way I can make myself do it. (Not advocating it, just a j-fact.) I think you maybe be expecting too much of yourself. Sometimes a leap is just a tiptoe past the demons, remember? One little thing at a time that eventually string together into something big. I have faith in you.
Amy, That is such a lovely thought, and maybe even an impetus for jumping… It delights me to think there are people who are waiting for us to jump in… because our jump is part of theirs, we just don’t know that yet. BIG smile!
Hey J,
Wise is the one who realizes that life is not an all-or-nothing proposition. Use the boat as a harbor, a refuge from storms when needed. Take the time to dip your toes when you feel like it and if the water is fine, gently slip in and see where the currents take you. The boat is always near and if need be you can hop back in.
George
George, It sounds graceful when you write it. (I think you should give me a ride in your boat.) *hug*
what a wonderful, wonderful post. you never cease to amaze me with your insight and passion for life. this has to be one of my favs (so far). hugs to you and keep standing up in that boat!