Endless distance in my lifeboat. So I suppose all I will do is row.
Amidst this current, I can’t see past the wreckage of younger men, which ironically mirrors back at me off of the water. Suddenly, I find myself rowing past islands that promised permanence. Past lighthouses built but forgotten to light the signal.
As I grow, so does this current, and every stroke seems to ask a question I cannot answer.
My first winter in a summer. A season to navigate, and regretfully, I forgot my compass. With it, my name.
Still, I row. But why?
I’m not sure. It’s not a destination that I can see. This endeavor seems absent of any disclosed time domain. Perhaps all it requires is repetition and continued evidence that movement remains possible.
It turns out that when I close my eyes, I see what I need to. I feel in tune with my efforts, and the evidence continues to accrue. The sun can be gone, but what I see is light. Subtle, but there.
Some nights it disappears completely, and I become curious whether I imagined it. However, every now and then it flickers, pointing me north, however far.
Years may pass, and this current may take its share. A man who forgot his sails. Salt in old wounds. Yet the flicker remains.
Finally, I understand.
The journey is not to cross the sea.
The sea is simply where I am... my own.
Your light is waiting where it has always been… Not forward, but up. Your North Star.
So much endurance, yet so little acceptance. Just you on your little life boat.
Perhaps what we need is not a destination, but a reference point.
Onwards and upwards, my friends.