I’ve heard it said, that people come into our lives
For a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led, to those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return…
I’ve said before that the connections that bind us to land are fragile and tenuous. Our anchor chains feel as strong as woven steel, the relationships we rely on, the ones we assume will never change. Nevertheless, even steel, when placed under the right pressure, can snap and we find ourselves looking at those who were once close to us from the other side of what seems like an impassable abyss.
As if you were on a journey from point A to point B, and you could see your destination in the distance quite clearly, along what seemed to be a straight and simple path, only when you get to a certain point you discover that there is a massive canyon between point A and point B that was previously not visible.
As the World Voyage draws closer and closer to a finish, I find myself wondering – not for the first time- what it is I’m going home to. How many friends do I have waiting for me? I have many acquaintances its true, but friends? Actual friends? I no longer know. At least one of my anchor cables has frayed and unravelled and I fear perhaps snapped permanently, I’m still stinging a bit from the unexpected recoil, and find myself wondering what that means for the others. There aren’t that many to begin with. There never are.
I am more certain in my own skin now than I ever could have claimed before I walked up that gangway, the thing is, I no longer know how compatible the woman I’ve become is with the life I left behind almost a year ago. I turned my life upside down and put it back together again, looked at the picture it presented, didn’t like it, disassembled it and put it back together again. I had some rather unexpected help in that department, but that’s beside the point. Sliding back into your old life after something like that isn’t always an easy task.
End-of-contract contemplation, it always gets me, and with having been out so long, and having said goodbye to at least three people who are very very dear to me – one of who I now realize I may never see again – I suppose it’s hitting me harder than usual.
My dear friend Rachelle commented recently on the fact that in the short time she was on the ship, she noticed that I really don’t go out much. It’s true. I don’t. The flagship has as lively a social scene as any other, but my social nature on ships tends to go in cycles. My first ship I was out every night because I was with my Sister, my next two I stayed in, my stint in Alaska before returning to the flagship I was out every night solely because of my association with the party band and my big brother. This time around, I’ve simply not felt the compulsion to leave the safety of my cabin. Especially not lately, perhaps I’ve just got too much thinking to do.
I wonder sometimes, how it’s possible to know exactly where you stand, exactly where you’re going, and yet feel completely lost at sea at the same time…