Earth, sea, and sky

The view from the shore

Considering trying out a new and improved career and life direction is comparable to standing on the shore and about to step into a small boat.

Chances are that you will feel a sense of unease and a great deal of apprehension. Even fear. Yes, fear. Don’t be surprised if the air suddenly feels cool down by the water as you watch the waves crashing into the shore. You feel chilled. You feel uncomfortable and out-of-place. Cold. Salt is in the air; you can taste it. And the wind is picking up. One after another, larger and louder they come; the waves come. What seemed soothing and relaxing while walking along the beach is, well, frightening now that you have gotten a little closer and a bit wet.

You might not want to admit it, but you are feeling more than a little concerned. You are afraid. If there was a panic button nearby you might be inclined to push it. If you didn’t think you might need them later, you would already be firing off your flares.

If only you could fly like the seagulls that are circling overhead. Fly directly and effortlessly to your destination. Quickly and safely. Without a care in the world. If only. But you can’t. You will soon be bound to that boat – that old, wooden boat.

Such is life.

Taking risks cannot be entirely avoided if you want to make a difference with your life. Complete safety is synonymous with wasting away. Yes, terrible things happen in this world. And there is always an element of risk in any worthwhile endeavor. So expect it; get used to it: Launching out on a new adventure will be exciting and dangerous. It will feel thrilling and terrifying. One minute you will feel fully alive, and the next…well aware that you might not be alive much longer.

So don’t be surprised if you are occasionally overcome by feelings of dread. Don’t be surprised if your imagination runs wild. No, you never know what might happen once you get into that tiny boat. Was that a dorsal fin or only an odd-shaped wave off in the distance? Is that a large wave forming over there, on the horizon, or just another curious cloud formation? This isn’t hurricane season, is it? I wonder if there are any pirates in this part of the world?

Aaargh! Your paddle will have to do as a weapon if it comes to that. Look out Johnny Depp! A row-boat is coming towards your armada.

Then, when you are about to step into your boat, the theme song, or rather the shark-attack prelude, from the old movie Jaws begins to play. In the back of your mind, you hear it. Faintly. Quietly at first, it is getting louder and louder now. The tempo is picking up as a disturbing image barges into your mind. Oh no, your capsized boat is drifting, and slowly sinking, way off in the distance. Your precious boat is gone. And there you are frantically treading water out in the open ocean – all alone. Wounded. Helpless. Hopeless. It is just a matter of time now. You can see them rising to the surface, in unison. Moving towards you. Slowly.

They’re coming.

Martha’s Vineyard used to be such a quiet and peaceful place, and water everywhere was more inviting, until somebody had the big idea to film that movie on that island and record that song. What were they thinking?

But when you finally get that tune turned off, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” takes its place; it takes a turn taking over your mind. Not again. Hadn’t thought about Gordon Lightfoot’s classic song for years. But now it is as if you have been meditating on this good, old, Canadian, great-lakes, ship-wreck song every day for the past decade. And just one specific line: “Fella’s it has been good to know ya.” Why did it have to be that one? As you step off the shore, and launch your boat out into the ocean, that was the last line you needed to have in your head.

This is getting ridiculous. Covering your ears with your hands you make a futile attempt to turn off all the doom-and-gloom messages. But it doesn’t work

Why couldn’t it be a happy seafaring song, you wonder as you paddle out to sea? Like maybe the one about the pirates taking over Saskatchewan. A light-hearted and happy song like that. The “ho, hey” song. The one about Regina and the Jolly Roger and “stealing wheat and barley and all the other grains.” You know, that one. True, it is a pillaging and plundering song. But it is written from the perspective of a frustrated farmer who is only hypothetically considering a life of crime. The chorus is fun to sing. Might make for an inspirational paddling song. And, hey, at least nobody actually dies or gets eaten alive.

The less-than-ideal songs finally come to an end. Looking up, you notice that it is gone now. You can’t see it anymore. The land; the shore; what you have always known – it’s gone.

Bobbing around in your boat, you remember what it was like back on the land. Making your way down to the water, you noticed that though the sand was soft if felt secure. Step by step, the earth was there to catch you – there to support your weight. You routinely expected that the earth would be there for you just as you assumed that the sun would aways appear to light your way.

But now, the water before you – the sea that stretches as far as you can see – is wild and unpredictable. It is not calm and contained. Definitely not. You can’t count on it like you thought you could rely on the land. Can’t control it. Where would you rather be right now? In this precarious boat out in the middle of the ocean or somewhere comparably safe on the land? There is no question. There is no doubt. You long to be back on the shore.

But as your boat rocks with the waves, you remember that there were no guarantees living on the land either.

And with the land far from view, it will be that much easier to look to the sky.