It will all be revealed
The best gems of wisdom come from experiences and people that you never expect, and they become validated in the twists and turns in life that you often think are isolated and unrelated.
My dad was a intelligent, diligent, stoic man full of universe wisdom gems. It was very clear how smart he was. That clear to anyone. He was the chief of pediatric nephrology at Children’s Hospital in Boston, a Harvard Medical School professor, a leader in the field of transplantation. But, many, myself included, overlooked the fact that beneath all the earthly book smarts, he had solid bundles of wisdom from the universe.
There is one gem he shared that I carry with me and revisit often. My dad used to say, “We never worry.” Basic, yes. True, yes. Challenging to live by, yes, yes, yes. I just can’t help myself sometimes. The anxiety is like a parasite living in my body and I’m constantly on high alert for its attacks.
The universe has tried to send me this wisdom gem of “We never worry” over and over in my life, but there’s only a handful of times I really remember it breaking through to my consciousness. There is one story in my life where I received this message that sticks out the most. Although it has likely been 10 years since it has happened, the mental movie of the events has stuck with me all these years and the details are clear and crisp as if it happened just this morning.
Here is the big back story. One Thanksgiving, my ex and I went up to Maine. My family has a vacation home there, so the plan was to have a nice relaxing day away before the hectic, crazy energy of Thanksgiving took over. My ex saw a small dingy/boat we had in the garage and asked if we could take it out in the water. I called my dad. He was the sailor in the family and always kept us safe on our summer boating adventures. He said, “the engine is broken.” This did not sound promising, so I relayed the message. My ex was confident that he could row the boat. My dad tried to extend his warning with a follow up, “It’s middle of November in Maine.” My ex had never been to the east coast. He didn’t understand what this meant about weather or the temperature of the Atlantic ocean. He wanted to go anyway. So we packed up for our nice, little, mid-November, Atlantic Ocean row. I don’t know what it was that made me look at my cell phone and not take it with me. Maybe I didn’t want it to get wet? Whatever it was, it was a regrettable move.
We dragged and wheeled the small boat out down to the shore. We got in the boat and I INSTANTLY knew our rowing strength was no match for the power of the Atlantic ocean with its relentless tide and its indestructible collaboration with an eastward wind. I barely got seated in the boat before my heart skipped 10 beats and then fell straight into my stomach. My body went tingly. My brain was electrified. I forgot how to breathe. I went into a full panic attack. It was one of my first panic attacks and it was a doozy.
My ex tried to row us back to shore. He wasn’t moving us fast enough. I tried. I couldn’t beat the ocean either. Could we call for help? No, we left our cell phones at home. I looked out at the scattered islands, the only things between us and England. What was the likelihood of us hitting one of those islands? None. Maybe we could make it to that lighthouse? Nope. We were going to go out to sea. I was sure of it. Our only hope was a huge imaginary tanker somewhere out there in the ocean. I started breathing my “calming breath”, breathing in and out from 1 to 10. Breathe in 1. Breathe in 1. Breathe in 1. I was stuck on 1, over and over and over. Breathe in 1.
A quick glance up and I noticed that there was and island to our right. I insisted that we go there. We stopped battling the waters and rowed right. As soon as the boat touched shore, I had no choice: the adrenaline was pumping hard and fast and “flight” kicked in. I jumped out of the boat and RAN. I ran to the right, to the left, and to the right again. I ran with such chaos that I ran right over a stick that popped up and literally hit me in the face, and I didn’t stop running. I was convinced we, although not technically far from shore, were going to be stuck on the island. The sun would set. We would freeze. We had no phones to call anyone. Thanksgiving was over.
While my ex, not worried at all, checked out “cool shells”, I screamed towards shore waving my arms frantically. About 10 minutes later, someone walking their dog saw us and sent a rescue boat. When the rescue arrived, they asked if I was my dad’s daughter. How embarrassing. I had forgotten it was a small town: they knew me.
Hopefully, this backstory clearly depicts how much fear I had for boats from that moment forward. Boats, once a tranquil family activity, were now an instant anxiety trip to adrenal flight school.
The next summer my ex and I went to Russian River, CA. He wanted to row a boat down the river… for fun. This was clearly not fun for me. Still, there was the stubborn part of me wanted to do this to help get past this fear. The river was shallow. It was also super narrow. I would be safe. I would not be stripped “out to sea” again should the river current be too much for me.
The guide asked us if there was any reason we felt unfit to sit in the the boat as the current did all the work. I wanted to scream at him our past history with boats and how unsuccessful we were. But, I managed to hold it in. In the spectrum of boat rides, this calm, warm, summer-afternoon, shallow-river boat trip seemed reasonable and different enough from our past experience. I just hoped my racing heart wasn’t visible pounding out of my chest.
He explained to us, the ride was simple. Stay in the boat when in the water. Stay towards the middle of the river at the shallow parts. Then, at a certain point, we would pass under three bridges. The first bridge was for cars, and the second was for pedestrians. After we passed under the second bridge, we needed to get over to the right. We would not be able to see the third bridge, but we needed to get over to the right anyway. The boat would get stuck in shallow water anywhere else, so we had to stay right. We wouldn’t see the bridge but “it will be revealed”.
What a funny way to word it, I thought. Maybe the universe heard my desire to desensitize myself to the feeling that all boats were secretly the dilapidated raft Tom Hanks drifted on in the movie Cast Away. This guide or the universe was telling me to have a little trust, even when I couldn’t see the ending.
As I stepped in the boat, my body shook. I was terrified. It was all flooding back. I swear somehow when I looked out, I saw a lighthouse in the river. I blinked and looked out at the other people in the river. They were all ok. They were smiling and having fun in fact. I wasn’t in Maine. It wasn’t windy. There was no tide, no wind. I could do this. I needed to do this.
I started to relax some as we floated along. And then, bridge one. My heart rate elevated. I sat up straight. I reminded my ex of our plan. It was best to review the plan. I was on high alert, but we were ok.
Second bridge. I couldn’t even stop myself, I automatically started rowing right. I yelled at my ex to get right. He already was. Every worry thought in the history of the universe came up. Were we over to the right enough? What if we got stuck? What if we tipped over? What if we died here in this river? And there was no bridge. Where was the bridge? It wasn’t coming. Should we get more right? What do we do? There must be something to do?
And then, without having to change or do anything, it was revealed, the third bridge. And we lined up in the perfect location. My heart stopped racing and the tingles flushed out of my arms and legs as a calm swept over me. Everything felt warm and bright. It was almost as if it was the first moment I noticed the sun was shining that day. There had been no need to worry. There had been no need see into the future. It was all revealed in perfect time.
It occurs to me upon rereading my story, that this story is not as dramatic as it felt when it was happening. It is simply a story about rafting down a shallow river on a warm California summer afternoon. It does not and cannot ever actually reflect the real fear that I felt that day. It cannot translate the irrational panic that painted a picture in my brain of being swept out to sea from a narrow river. It will never explain why my brain fabricated a story about being abandoned in the Atlantic Ocean, cold, sunburnt and alone while actually on a river in California. And it can never fully share the comfort in the hearing the words “it will be revealed” and the total release that happened when it was actually revealed. It can never fully translate the life-altering change I felt within me having fully received this wisdom gem from the universe, a tool I carry with me and occasionally follow across my life. So after re-reading this story, I somewhat question the value in sharing it.
Recently, I’ve wanted to make my writing more public. Over the years, I have often thought to organize and share my tools that I have acquired for dealing with my anxiety. Having tools documented would allow me to refer back to what has worked in the inevitable times that being human brings me back to my old patterns. Also, making my stories public would allow my journey to help others.
I’ve waited for organization and a clear path to come before sharing publicly, but in writing this story and bringing up these memories I am reminded to trust the process even when I can’t see the end.
So, even though I question posting every line of this seemingly meaningless story, I’ll do it anyway because we never worry, it will all be revealed.
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