Waiting and Writing

What sailing taught me about patience

I’ve just ended a weekend sailing trip by Orcas Island in Washington - a beautiful Pacific Northwest destination for those looking for something calm and quiet. The little island clusters provide more adventure than they’d appear to. I saw seals and a pod of orcas, caught some crab, played poker with family, watched a few FIFA games, and survived a freezing shower. I even rediscovered my love for navigating the sea, working the sails, and manning the helm. A topic for another time, though.

In all this, I was doing a lot of observing. Observing myself and the others around me. I watched my family work together to anchor, dock, and chart a course. Everyone had a role at all times, making for an easy sail. I’d missed this dearly! Being part of something and something I’d loved so much!

As I was leaving the islands to head back home, I waited for a ferry. The crew were scattered about and busy. Several helping the vehicles disembark, the captain delegating orders, safety personnel ensuring all was well, window cleaners wiping down the glass and so on. It felt harmonious. Again, everyone had a role. No one seemed isolated.

It spoke to me because as a writer, we are crew, captain, boat, and sea. We are alone.

This isn’t a new revelation. To write is a lonely and isolated endeavor. And even at the end of all that time served putting idea to paper and you’ve shared your words with the public, there may still be misunderstanding - one of the hardest outcomes at attempting any form of connection. Can anyone other than the writer truly comprehend the work for what it’s meant to be?

It is the way of art. Math is math. 2+2 = 4 ; no matter what Big Brother says. But language arts? As they say, it’s in the eye of the beholder. So not only is the journey of writing lonely, the destination could be too. In watching everyone else around me contributing to their immediate surroundings - helping, serving, and working, I found myself yearning to be a part of something harmonious, too.

A few weeks ago I had an appointment and watched the staff, doctors, and nurses clock in and get ready for another day at work. I turned to my husband and said, “I should just stop and get a real job. Do some actual good in the world.” I was almost embarrassed. Whenever someone asks me who I am and what I do, I cringe and bite down. Why can’t I just do something that helps others right now? He turned to me and said, “but what if your books do help someone later?”

I think it boils down to patience.

It’s not that writing doesn’t serve in its own unique way. It’s that the return isn’t immediate. A lot of art isn’t. How many artist’s work was only praised, recognized, or even found after the artist lived? Is my “call to help” just my patience running thin after a long week of work and no validation? Is it that the world we live in has grown to demand and accommodate immediate satisfaction and reward? Is it a test from the universe!? Waiting to see if I’m patient enough to “earn the title” of W R I T E R, beside the greatly achieved before me? Am I overthinking it again? Most definitely.

Or is it that, in watching the world and solidifying myself as an avid observer, I simply wish to be more of an active participant?

I continue to seek a way in which I can make room for myself and my adventures - both at sea and on paper. But I must also find a better way to participate in life. Maybe that’s finding fellow writers, like those here on substack. A writing group? A pen pal? Maybe it’s starting my own bookclub, online or with dear friends. Or maybe it’s a deeper sense of service (an old call to a decades past memory), in which I take up the helm again to volunteer. I don’t need to know today. Perhaps a good answer will show up in time. For now, I’ll let the sunset teach me patience.

🦋 Andi

PS - What have you been up to lately? What do you make time for? Is there anything new you want to experience? Something old you haven’t done in a while? Be patient but make time.