Kayak Chronicle #2

After yesterday’s rain there was bright sun, crisp air, and a stiff breeze on the water at 7:45 a.m. I pointed my boat up river into the wind—choosing to have the “uphill battle” while I’m fresh and then glide easily home afterwards. This choice might just be a life strategy, too. I can see it more clearly on the river than anywhere else.

Today I paddled farther than ever before, stretching to go a little bit farther, just to see what’s there. I went far enough to see three blue chairs poised between the white birch shade and the water shadows. Those three blue chairs could become a destination in themselves, but today I went beyond the chairs to see the dock with the fairy lights.

Note to family with “MELENEY” painted in block letters on a float north of Edgewater beach, just off the beach in your own neighborhood: “Your sailboat—RI0334S—is restless. What do you think it is doing when you are not looking? Do you think it is resting peacefully just off shore waiting blankly for you to return? It is not. Your boat is restless. It pivots gracefully around the tether like a young horse, golden in the early morning light. The other sailboats are resting; your boat is not.”

Watching the little ripples on the water gives no clue whatsoever to the random movements of this boat. The breeze holds steadily from one direction and yet the filly swings her head to a different drummer. She is restless and yet, she is also thoughtful and deliberate. And unpredictable, so I keep my distance. Perhaps I seem the same to her or to any other observer—a blank entity, resting on a paddle, floating in the current? But I am most active and alive, filled with intentions and processes. If asked, “What are you doing just sitting there?” I would say, “I am writing a book.”

I balance the paddle across my boat and let go to see what happens next. If home is at 12 o’clock and the direction I’m heading now is toward 6 o’clock, the head of my boat swings counterclockwise slowly to 11 o’clock, silently unwinding me.

No ducks today.

A few days ago I took my own storm to the water and paddled uphill in both directions. There was a stiff wind, but my internal turbulence trumped its force. “What puzzle did I bring to the water, hoping for a solution by throwing my being into propulsion?”

Learning to share is a lesson we repeat over and over for toddlers and children, but as adults we need to keep learning it over and over as well. As the oldest of five children, forced by circumstances to share everything, I may be more sensitive than others. Sharing is more complex than we think, and out on the water in my own initiative, I can contemplate sharing at a safe distance. It calls for mountain climbing effort to reach the peak where a gift is set entirely free from expectations, and all inconveniences are forgiven. I find myself caught in a misty humid morning at sea level. I brought no joy; I found no meaning.