Yesterday, in a long planned for attempt to take the boat out, we found ourselves deep in a fog with no reference points. A rocky shore could have been feet away and we would not have seen it. The approaching tug boat was invisible until practically upon us. Save for the urgent bleaking of the ships fog horn we could have been smashed to bits.
Our friend Chuck had brought with him his hand held GPS. "We're off Belvedere Point, head 10 degrees to the right." "We're in the middle of Raccoon Straits, keep going."
Eventually, we all determined, after boats kept appearing from the mist, it was time to head back. So GPS in hand Chuck talked us back to our slip in Sausalito, where of course the sun came out in all its glory.
The day had changed. No sailing...instead we had traversed the Bay in a kind of hide and go seek game. Now with glass in hand, music in the cockpit, we enjoyed a sunny day at the dock. Still it was a great day to spend with friends. Ena was there, the first time I had seen her since Om's funeral. Chuck and Stephanie our dear friends, Stephanie, a part of my walking team this year. Dana, not only was there, but he came to eat pizza and watch the Olympics at our house as the sun started to set.
When I thought about what to say about this foggy, grey and directionless day, I thought the parallels I could draw were so obvious, it may appear trite. But, because they are so obvious, maybe it means it's meant to be talked about.
How often in life do we feel exactly like we did on the water. We are merrily on our way, without a care in the world and suddenly a fog falls so thick we are blinded. In December of 1995, I was happy on track, loving my life. We were finishing up our remodel of our home and celebrating, in unfinished rooms, with friends the lives we had come to know. Then I felt a lump in my left breast. Suddenly everything that I knew seems to be clouded in a mist of fear and uncertainty. My life took a turn and on this path I had no ability to chart my own course. It was almost as if it was predetermined. I wondered with each blast of news from the mist when I would be run over and destroyed.
But a miracle of sorts came out of this uncertainty. My GPS, my beacon of light, was my friends and family and most of all Glenn. I held firm to the position they allowed me to follow. The course they set that said I was heading to a safe harbor. I would be saved.
It's always there, the true direction to follow if you just allow yourself to find it.
Now here I am 15 years later, my path is not completely my own, but I if I follow my true north, I do not need to worry that I will lose my way. So today I want to say thank you, to those people who have guided me to shore with your love and belief in me. Way better than the finest GPS.