Navigating through fog

Photo credit: Jane Anttila, 2019

Earlier this year, I crewed a boat down Long Island Sound in deep fog. We could see our own boat and maybe 30 meters out in any direction, but that’s about it. We had a radar that our skipper was pretty much glued to, and a solid navigation system to keep us on course. We also had the advantage of knowing where we were going, as we were sailing the boat home.

In short: we had a lot to go on, even if the immediate surroundings were murky. I felt scaffolded and safe.

Is it possible to apply this concept to life at large? I certainly hope so.

Over the past 3 months, everyone in our little orbit is navigating through their own fog: college graduations, health crises, job searches, home changes, the inevitable disappointment that comes with concretizing our dreams. We try to scaffold each other with empathy and inclusion, but we are all at the limit of our ability to adjust. Cue, friction. It is to be expected, but it also is not what will help us move through.

I know from experience that our imaginations tend to be bigger than reality. I also know that this is a good thing: we need a vision to reach for in order to stay engaged. In many ways, our imaginations are a chart on which to plot our course, a territory slightly shrouded in fog so we can imagine it as beautiful as water and love. Or put differently: some part of life will always be unknowable, and thank goodness for that.

But right now, I also feel the siren call of certainty, the urge to move faster to get to some place where we can see farther ahead. We can cheat a little by making plans for the elements we can know. The dinners we will cook. The walks we will take. The constancy of meditation and yoga and art.

This is the work. The truth is, we are exhausted. And another truth is, the only way out is through.