An ocean of gritty waves.
And a beautiful boat.
Here’s the audio version of this post in case you need, or would like, me to read it to you:
The grit is gritting right now and the pearlescent ponderings are popping of late much to the delight of my bests when they receive four eight minute voice notes in a row, I’m sure. There’s been a repeated metaphor I’ve been pondering these last few weeks about life being an ocean, and of course last night the perfect Andrea Gibson poem strolled into my sphere articulating it divinely. Can we take a moment to honour the poets who both economise and alchemise words into perfect pearl sized drops of wonder.
From early childhood we are taught the definition of a good life is one in which the waters are routinely calm, where our boat is rarely rocked. Culture instructs us to think that the sea of life should be tranquil, and any ripple means something has gone wrong. But the sea was never meant to be calm. Waves are part of the design. A static ocean would not sustain life, nor would a challengeless experience. I know this for sure – the parts of my life that have threatened to sink me were the parts that awoke my capacity to sail.
This, my darlings, is why we do the work. Why we devote our energy to ourselves. I very much mean the word, devote. Devotion. To treat ourselves, and our peace, with total reverence and care and love. Because the waves are going to wave, and the weather is going to weather, but we get to craft ourselves the most beautiful, sturdy boats on which to sail the waters. And only we alone can do that for ourselves. We can be held in community by mentors or lovers or friends. They can guide us, or share the mastery of boat building with us, but if we want to get out of the water, we have to do that ourselves.
I’m wondering if when we’re children we’re on whatever vessels our family have crafted for themselves. For some of us that means we begin in the water, for others we’re birthed into a canoe, for some lucky folk with parents who have sailed the seas they might arrive on a jet ski. Then, as we get older, as our own identity emerges, as life taunts and caresses us with its wiles, we get to choose whether we turn the grit to pearls that will help us float. Some people will stay on the vessel they were born with their whole lives. Some people will try and outwit or accessorise themselves to give off the impression of their nautical prowess, when in actuality they’ve just got a beat-up surfboard and a cute hat. Some people will blame the ocean and never learn to swim.
I caught up with a friend a few weeks ago and they said,
“I know there is a tsunami coming and I’m terrified about what’s going to happen, because the last time it did it decimated me.”
And I looked at them with all the love I could muster and said,
“Your fear is warranted because tsunami’s are terrifying. But you’re not the same person you were a few years ago, you’ve done too much work on yourself to be totally levelled by the wave. Don’t forget that back then you were on a boogey board but now you’re in a speed boat with a harpoon, and the community you’ve created are all around you in our boats too. You won’t drown. You won’t let you. We won’t let you.”
So, a storm totally ravaged my ocean a couple of months ago, my life as I knew it, and as I expected it to be, does not look the same right now, and I am okay. My loved ones keep looking at me with great love and great suspicion when they say things like, “You seem really centered?” waiting for me to reveal a truth that their perception is off. But it’s not. I feel centered. I feel sturdy in my core, at the same time that my heart is broken, my head is reeling and my body is anxious, but I am okay. My boat isn’t taking on water this time.
This storm has made me feel deep gratitude for the pearly floatation devices I’ve been crafting these last few years with therapy and other devotional practices like journaling, breathwork, somatics and new tattoos. Now, my peace is my priority. And how I’m learning to maintain my peace is by saying no, trusting my gut, actually resting, being active in what I opt in and out of when it comes to relationships and other people. Do I want to opt in on their unique brand of chaos and emotional unintelligence? Absolutely not. It’s saying the honest thing even if it means disappointing someone else. It’s by feeling the feelings when they rise in my body, and getting curious about what is happening. To be clear, loves, I’m still in the grit, these aren’t fully embodied pearls yet. They’re still ponderings that I’m practicing and fucking up and trying really bloody hard to action in the moment.
A few days ago I was spiraling with an uncomfortable anxiety when talking to a new friend. I noticed it happening in the moment, the tightening in my stomach, and the jittery panic pinging in my chest. The inner monologue, a thick and rambly riff on What if they think you're too needy? What if they think you're too much? What if this is too many messages? They're going to know you're insecure. I caught the moment like you’d catch a butterfly in a jar as a kid. I inspected it, got surprised by it, and delighted by the specific need it was trying to fulfill and then eventually let it go.
I was able to recognise the very adolescent, high masking, unaware she is an ADHD babe, but who knows the deep shame of not being “typical,” and who overcompensates, minimises and people pleases to keep herself safe. Because heaven forbid anyone know she has needs, or is perceived as not having her shit together, or, that she may be too much. My forty year old boat captaining self was able to soothe this littler part with reminders that sounded like this…
Too needy isn’t a thing, you have needs.
What you're saying is the truth.
What they think of you if out of your control.
You are insecure. Everyone is. What is the point of pretending otherwise.
You want this person to like you, so show up as you are so they get to know the real you and they’re able to make an accurate decision about you.
Now, breathe…
…and drive the boat, darling.
Like puzzle pieces these revelations lined up in the middle of a brightly lit Westfield Shopping Centre and I was left stunned, bubble tea in hand and series of voice notes to record STAT.
My prayer for us all as we worship at the alter of our own growth is to know that we already have everything we need. If there is breath in our lungs, curiosity in our brains, compassion in our hearts, and a banging soundtrack in our ears we can sail the ocean. We can be scared and brave at the same time. We can practice trusting ourselves. We can acknowledge and speak aloud our needs. We can get better at self soothing. We can ask for help of professionals or medicine if we need to. We can learn how to trust our gut and say fuck you to all the rules and systems that impose the size, colour, shape, and style of our water vessels. We can.
My boat is only gonna keep getting more and more pearly so when the inevitable waves crash I’ll know in every fibre of my being that I’ll be okay.
And so will you.
Love Claire.
Pearler is written and created on the unceded lands of the Yuggera and Turrbal people here in Meanjin, and I pay my deep respect to First Nation Elders past and present. This always was, and always will be Aboriginal land.
I don’t believe I can wholeheartedly support sovereignty of this land I live, love and work on without acknowledging the liberation of Palestine and honoring the impacts of colonisation of Indigenous people everywhere else.