Liquid Mirror
When the wind died, I was sailing in the South Pacific racing to get to French Polynesia before they closed the border to prevent the spread of COVID. The sailboat was about 1,000 nautical miles away from the nearest island, Rapa Nui, which we’d set sail from a week earlier. When we’d left, I’d been so excited at the chance to spend three weeks finally doing something about the plastic crisis. I told myself I was nurturing the world mothering spirit within me, that not only took care of her own son, but looked after the world all kids were inheriting. As the news intensified and we learned that airlines were grounding flights and countries closing borders as the death tolls increased, all I wanted was to get home to my son. I left my eight year-old son on the other side of the world to sail on this boat. My son’s dad and I share custody, and his dad was taking care of our boy while I sailed. Nature wasn’t cooperating with my need to get home. For days on end we didn’t have enough wind to sail. My will alone wasn’t going to create wind. Nature didn’t care about my agenda. The only thing there was to do was wait. By that I mean surrender.
Every day more news filtered in. We bargained with the universe. Some variation of, "I'll be fine as long as I still have X." We were trying to extract a promise from the universe that it'll only hurt this much. But one by one the things we thought we needed to be okay disappeared.
I’d go to the one place on the sailboat where I could be alone — my l berth the size of a coffin. I’d close up the side so I wouldn’t fall out and lay on my back. I'd miss my son and said no matter what else happened, I'd be okay if I didn’t get back to my son. After two night of horrible sleep I realized I had to do something different if I was going to find sleep again or not go completely bat shit crazy with anxiety. I'd stare at the swell going up and down, then mimic the ocean's breathing, putting my hands on my belly. I would admit how afraid I was and I'd stopped pretending I’d ever had control over much. I'd have to find a way to be okay no matter what. So would my son. I didn’t get to condition my survival on certain events happening or not. I had to surrender. To the universe. To trusting myself enough to deal with whatever happened. To trusting that my son’s dad was taking good care of him. To be with the uncertainty of this moment.
The day the ocean stilled into a mirror, the skipper called us on deck to see. Looking into the water I saw my own reflections. You know what I also saw? How my friends stood beside me.
Looking into that sapphire blue I remembered why I’d come— to see myself. To stop hiding behind my son and my identity as mother, to look into my own eyes and see middle aged woman who still had held onto some of her girlhood hopes and dreams, recognize that gleam in her eyes, light up her soul. To be able to look off the bow and see that even after motherhood, even at my tender middle-aged years, the whole world was still in front of me.
