This boat has seen better days. But, here it sits in its afterlife, floating on dry land, next to a brick building in a Florida coastal town my friend, Becky, and I visited recently. Becky and I go way back, each of us offering support to the other in troubled times, and finding fun when life allowed. What amazing lifelines have been my women friends!
Today I am alone, sitting on the grimy steps of a rental property I am renovating, pushing myself to stay here, pick up this brush, and slap some paint on the bathroom walls. What I’d like to do is go home, curl into a ball, and find some peace of mind. I’ve been churned up since last night after a troubling call from a client; and I’ve been paddling upstream for many days in an effort to resolve my distress over family matters. In short, I’m a mess.
Through the years, I’ve acquired more self-reliance than I had in the past. I know how to hang onto the paddle and just keep rowing—solo—through the churning waves. Eventually, the sun shines, the storm is just a silly ghost, and the reflection off the water blazes beauty and life.
Today, though, the churning in my belly is too much. What I need is a friend. It is Paula whom I call. She listens, gently inserts her thoughts, and listens some more. Gradually, like that old boat, I feel the ground beneath me, and know I can, for one more day, keep floating on this land.