Dearest Rachel -
Mom and Dad would often talk about our first family cruise that we took back in 1999. Dad and his cousin Dennis had helped organize a trip with the entire extended family, a few years prior, and for arranging that much business, when we got to Vancouver, we were upgraded to rooms on the top floor of the same hotel the cousins had stayed at. The views were such that, from the 20th floor or so, you could see the harbor. And when they woke up ridiculously early in the morning that we were to depart for Alaska, Dad called to Mom and pointed out that, quite literally, "our ship had come in."
I find myself in a similar situation right now, only at the moment, I'm up in order to watch us pull in to Sydney Harbour, and film the entire sequence, if I can. Since I'm neither a barfly, nor a club hopper – and I'd already worked out in the morning, thanks to I Komang – I retired to my room fairly early, and ultimately fell asleep ridiculously so. As a result, it's only a little after five in the morning, local time, and I'm staring at a starry sky that I know the camera can't do justice to.
Not that I won't try; although, as I was dictating that last paragraph, I just caught side of a meteor shooting past on the left side of the yardarm in that last picture. And I'm just realizing now that I've forgotten to make a wish on it.
One thing that makes taking such pictures, particularly difficult (as well as unrewarding, given the results) is the fact that I'm absolutely terrified of dropping the camera as I'm holding it out over the balcony. So here I am, clutching the thing in my hands in a shaky but absolute death grip, trying to keep them steady as I point it at what I think is the Southern Cross. I know that this is absolutely irrational, since I've never had a problem taking a picture before anywhere else; but just the knowledge that, if the unthinkable did happen, the phone I'm holding so tightly would be guaranteed to fall into the bottomless ocean, and be forever lost, terrifies me into this desperate grip I have on it, and keeps me from holding it sufficiently steady.
To be sure, there is also the light pollution preventing me from capturing the stars properly, but this grip can't be helping me, either.
I'm afraid I've strayed from where I meant to go with this letter, honey. I'd started with this story about "one's ship coming in," although that was my folks claiming that, rather than us; at that point, we were still just getting started in life, relatively speaking, and had no real expectations of future successes like that. Of course, in the decades since, our fortunes have risen and fallen. It could easily be said that our ship has in fact come in, but with the elimination of the first person plural, there is more than enough room for argument about that.
Then again, there's the literal fact that I'm on this particular ship; does the metaphor hold true in this case? Does it count when I'm already aboard? Some people might see my circumstances, and think I've no need to see my ship come in; there is no point in my wishing on a shooting star. I have everything that certain people would think was necessary for a full life, and then some.
Would that I could believe that, honey.
To be sure, the earthly life is a constant struggle for "more"; there is always a certain craving for something else, a certain dissatisfaction, that propels us forward along our way. If we were completely satisfied with our lot, we would never move; we would become stagnant and useless – although, if that didn't bother us to do so, would be a perfectly valid choice for someone to make, if not necessarily approved of by society at large. I will occasionally worry about Daniel arriving at this conclusion, to be honest.
These cravings could be as basic as our mere appetites, where we simply need fuel to keep our bodies going day after day. Just because you've eaten a hearty meal doesn't mean that you'll never have to eat again (not that any of us have that kind of willpower, or should). You will always need and want more eventually. And that's just the most foundational of needs (okay, oxygen, but that's practically a given – it's a rare and desperate situation where we have to seek that out); there are so many other wants that demand attention and drive us towards "more" in order to address them.
I suspect that's where I am at this point, honey. My ship is literally coming in this morning, but while there are those who would insist that it has long since done so in a metaphorical sense, there are reasons to contest that assertion.
Two hours into this letter, and there's still nothing on the horizon but open ocean. The sky is gray and overcast, and I find myself wondering if the clouds will ever lift.
Obviously, that's a literal description of what I'm seeing from my balcony (and yes, I'm still holding onto the camera with that frightened death grip, but I can't help but take these kinds of pictures now and again). The thing is, it still feels like it could just as easily be applied on a metaphorical basis to my life, and perhaps so many others. It rarely feels like we're getting anywhere until the city appears on the horizon. It always seems gray and cloudy until the sun breaks through.
I'm on the ship, honey, but does it count as having "come in" when it hasn't yet?
I guess I just have to wait until it does.
Until then, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I'm going to need it.
No comments:
Post a Comment