I feel like I’m at high sea navigating in a broken vessel. I can hear the cracks of the old wood struggling to stay together against the waves. And there isn’t even a storm. Yet.
Every time one thing gets fixed something else breaks down. When the water stops leaking into the pantry, then the sail rips. When the sail is sown a window cracks letting the cold air in. It is physically exhausting and takes all my mental energy. It is also starting to chip away at my spirit.
I feel like the old man from the tale. It is me against the sea, against the whale. I know the fight is already lost but still must hold my grip onto that whale. I can’t let go. I wont let go. But the skin on my hands has been scrapped raw. The salt on my exposed skin is beginning to burn. My eyes can barely see from the constant exposure to the sun.
Sometimes I close my eyes and then all I can feel is the breeze on my face, the fresh water cooling my skin, the sound of the waves pushing me ahead on this adventure. Then I am grateful for this body of mine which has the strength to hold on to the whale this ship has become. I am grateful for every tense muscle, for every unbroken bone, for every deep breath I can still take, and pray. I pray for the status quo. I know I’ll never get my shiny new ship back, but I pray at least I’ll be strong enough to keep up with the speed that this ship is ageing at, so that I am still one step ahead of it and able to fix it.
I pray to keep the status quo long enough to see the sun rise, mature into a full hot day, and then see it slowly trade its brightness for the beautiful and complex dance of pinks that is the sunset. Once the sun has settled and the wind has cooled I’ll be able to let go of this rope. Let go of the whale, and let the boat sink.
But not before. ‘Til then, it is me against the whale in this broken vessel of mine.