Through the hardest times I've experienced, in the midst of chaotic avalanches of financial and personal collapse, there have been cracks in the cold stone wall of misery. Important cracks. Empty moments of light and pointless relief and happiness. Certainty about who I am and what I'm doing. Dazzlement at the ocean and gratitude that I work there.
One morning started particularly wretchedly. The weather on that dazzling ocean where I work on this day was cold, windy and rainy. Then the oil leak in the boat turned into a gusher, surrounding Close Enough with a giant oil slick. I envisioned calling the bank and telling them where the boat was and that the keys were in it. I envisioned being many thousands further into the hole at a time when I'm broke, inexperienced and desperate.
I limped into the harbor, had help locating the engine problem, called for a part and surrendered to several days of down time when I absolutely could not afford it.
Later, I sat in a meeting and was given a piece of paying work. I then took a torn in half piece of scrap paper and wrote down a list of these kinds of projects I'd had come in recently and very much by coincidence. The sun came in through the stained glass window in my soul as I realized that rotten weather and boat down time had suddenly transformed into several very productive days laid out before me.
It took a long couple of months to get used to living alone or as a single parent, to get the house back to something liveable instead of a cold, dirty bunch of sockets where belongings and family had been. Money troubles accelerated instead of abating as I had hoped. I was very lonely. I felt ashamed.
After spending this past week reeling from the latest financial body shocks, coming up with a plan and beginning to execute, after three strenuous days on the boat, after an early morning of finances and health care coverage bureaucracy, I stopped and listened and absorbed another stained glass window moment. My son and his friend were quietly playing on the back deck. We'd just gotten back from the harbor where they mucked about in the skiff and played in the water. My middle girl is off with a friend. Summer is here. I'm getting back into activities with the kids where they can enjoy and be enriched by this unique environment. I take my daughter's friend and her Dad on a ride aboard Close Enough and see the big grins that remind me why I'm here.
I haven't scored the big financial prize or fixed all the leaks in my personal ship of state. I have had a few moments where the light shines in and reassures and relieves. To me that is just as much of a prize. Those moments aren't just here and gone. They stay with me.
