



I was born on a boat. In fact, I was born on the only boat that was fully equipped with every gadget, instrument, and map necessary to safely get me to my final destination across the open sea. It was completed with beautiful finishings, had strong and reliable sails, a crew of smiling faces who dutifully fulfilled their roles, and a trusted captain to guide us all in love. As I grew up on this boat, I was taught about all the wonderful and magnificent parts it included. I was taught how lucky I was to have been born onto the best boat in all the sea. I was taught of its miraculous history of how it was built. I was taught to trust, follow and support its captain because he knew more than I ever could about journeying across these dangerous waters. I was taught to find my place on this boat and most importantly, to stay. Stay in the boat. I would find lasting joy on this boat. Naturally, I grew to love my boat. I was amazed at its ability to always keep me safe when storms arose. I was so thankful for the peace and happiness I was able to experience on my boat.





As I’d look out at the waters around me, I could see it was full of other boats. Some were fairly similar to mine. Some were drastically different. Some were large, carrying many passengers. Some were carrying only a single rider. Some blazed forward in a direct path and others lazily bobbed back and forth following the rhythms of the waves. As I saw these boats, I couldn’t help but sometimes feel sorry for them. Some were clearly struggling or even sinking and that seemed unfair. Even those that seemed to be getting along just fine, didn’t realize what pure comfort they were missing out on and that was sad to me. When I found the right opportunities, I would call out and invite people to join me on my boat. The best boat. I was certain they could enjoy the ride much more being up here with the captain, and I wanted them to have the joy I was experiencing on this journey.





Over time, I qualified to be awarded the most prized possession on my boat; the golden life vest. It was my goal since before I could remember, to be able to wear this golden life vest honorably. I worked my entire life to be worthy of it. Wearing it proudly over my chest, I had extra protection against the dangers of the sea, I had access to the most beautiful parts of our vessel, and most importantly I now had a physical reminder of my commitment and belonging. Seeing all the golden vests surrounding me on my boat provided a deep sense of pride and community among us. It was very obvious when someone was aboard our boat who didn’t quite fit in, because there would be no golden vest in sight. I was often hopeful I could help them find their way to qualify for this special privilege.





As I got older I carefully chose someone, who also wore this golden life vest, to spend my time with on the boat. I soon noticed that he didn’t seem as content with our boat as he used to appear. He even started to mention little leaks and scratches he kept stumbling upon. I could tell he was starting to feel unsettled and unsure of the safety of our boat. One day he did what I’d always feared my companion would do. He jumped off the boat. The shock consumed me as I realized we were no longer journeying safely together on the same path across the water. Why would he abandon our entire boat because of a little scratch or a tiny leak? It didn't make sense to me. Especially when I knew this boat had always been so good to us. As I watched him slowly swim further away, I would occasionally call out to him and ask why he was doing this. He would quietly point at some of the other dings and cracks he could now see more clearly from the water. But I didn’t fully understand or believe him. All I could think to do was plant my feet more firmly onto my boat, tighten my safety vest, and hope that he would choose to come back and join me soon.





Time passed and I realized he was not going to be returning. He seemed to be happier just swimming in the water with no boat. While that confused me, I began to accept this change in my journey. As I carried out my days on the boat without him, I started noticing for myself some of the leaks and scratches. It made me frustrated that I couldn’t just live peacefully on my boat like I used to, because these imperfections seemed to jump out constantly now and get in my way. Most of the time I tried to ignore them and focus on the pretty parts I could still see and enjoy, but sometimes I stopped to stare. I wondered if there was more to what I could see on the surface.





One day I found a floor board with the paint starting to chip away. I gathered up my courage and decided to lean in closer this time, instead of walking on past. I began to slowly pick at the chip and to my surprise, I discovered that underneath the shiny coat of paint lied a rotting foundation. I thought to myself, “How could this have been here all along without me knowing? Who painted over these boards and didn’t warn us?” With the damage now fully exposed, the foundation of my boat was appearing anything but solid and sturdy like I believed it was. I brought it to the captain's attention and he assured me that there was no need to worry. He assured me our boat was perfectly sound and still everything we knew it to be. He even provided me access to a variety of tapes, glues, and paints to use until I found one that covered these imperfections to my satisfaction.





I was deeply uncomfortable with some of the damage I was finding. I was never aware that my boat carried such things. I felt confused. I felt scared. I felt deceived. I was taught to understand that this boat was the only sure and safe way across the sea to reach our destination. But how could the best boat in this entire ocean actually be so incomplete and broken? I began working to put together the damaged parts in a new way. I was told there were plenty of other people on this very boat that managed to do the same thing and that brought me hope. A little paint here. A little glue there. I worked constantly day and night and it was exhausting. But no matter how hard I tried to make my boat feel like it used to, it had changed for me. I couldn’t pretend everything was beautiful again. I couldn’t pretend everything was fine. I couldn’t unsee what I had seen hiding beneath all the shiny paint. If there had been just one area of the boat to work on, I could have managed. But realizing that the repairs were needed over its entirety, I knew I could never possibly fix them all.





My boat was no longer safe to me and I wanted to jump. I felt the need to jump. To get far away. But something held me back and I hesitated. I knew it was dangerous out there in the water. I was scared I might drown. How could I ever be happy or survive without this boat? What would the captain and the crew think of me for leaving? How could I even consider leaving my home? How could I reject everything that had brought me to this point in my journey across the sea? It did in fact bring me safely here. It did protect me from the storms. It did make me smile and laugh and love. I wouldn’t be this far in my journey without this boat and I couldn’t deny that fact. Maybe it was good enough for me after all. Maybe I could learn to live on this boat in a new way and with a new purpose. Should I stay and help make it better by working on the repairs? Should I stick around and be there for other people discovering the cracks? What if I just stayed in the parts of the boat I still enjoyed and avoided the parts I didn’t feel safe in anymore? What if I got out into the water but still held on to the side?





So I decided to try. I tried to stay on the boat. I played my part. I attempted to live my days as if nothing had changed for me. I smiled at the crew. I followed the captain. I said the right things. But when no one was looking, I broke down and cried. I felt like a fraud. I felt fake. I felt broken. I felt like an outsider on my very own boat. I felt alone. No matter how badly I wished I could stay, I realized that this was simply not my boat anymore. So I did what I never imagined myself doing. I got off the boat.





I didn’t know where I was going to swim next when I took the leap. The possibilities seemed endless as I now had the entire ocean to consider. I frantically stroked my way further from the boat in search of something new to hold on to. But I was too skeptical to fully grab on to any of the other boats floating around me. What if these boats had the same hidden dangers? How could I trust another boat again with my life and my journey? I then noticed the shiny gold vest still hugging my body as I struggled to tread water. Instead of being a buoyant protection, it felt more like a heavy weight pulling me down. I realized it no longer held its purpose for me and it was time to let it go. I silently floated there in the water with nothing but myself, and I began to finally catch my breath. For the first time in my life I felt utterly free. I was my own boat now.

As I took my time to rest there on my back, I began to notice that every boat was moving past me in the same direction. They were all moving forward toward the sun ahead of them. How did I not see this before? All of these boats - big, small, old, new - were making their way in the same direction this entire time. I used to think that mine was the only boat successfully moving across the sea and making all the correct turns. But from this new perspective, I began to see that my boat was no different than the rest. Every vessel in the water had some useful parts helping them along in the right direction and had some rusty parts holding them back. Each passenger was aboard the one that worked best for them and they all seemed perfectly content despite the differences. I felt a sense of relief and peace knowing that we were all in this vast ocean together just doing our best. Maybe there wasn’t a “right” way to get across this sea after all. And maybe...just maybe...I could decide my own path.





Instead of joining someone else's boat, I found my companion and we started to gather parts to build our own. This time, we got to choose what we wanted to include and it felt like the home we never knew could exist. We took some of the same parts of the boat we came from, and we also tried on new parts we found along the way. Some parts found their permanent place with us on our boat, while others were tossed back in the water if they didn’t fit quite right. Our new boat wasn’t as big and bold and predictable as our old one, but it was ours. And the way that it carried us so uniquely perfect on the water was something beautiful to take in. After being separated, we were finally together again on this journey across the sea. We were following the same light, but now on a new route that was our very own. The waves would still beat on us some days and the sun would still share its warmth on other days, but I knew that we would still continue to move forward with the rest of these boats. I knew we would be okay.





I still often scan the horizon to find our old boat. Sometimes the sight of it fills me with anger as I notice the captain choosing routes that harm some of the smaller boats trying to get by. Sometimes I feel confused how it’s passengers aren’t worried about the leaks and cracks they walk over every day. Sometimes I feel sad that I don’t belong to it anymore and I miss it. And as time goes by, I’m more often able to whisper “Thank you.” For I know I wouldn't be where I am right now without it to getting me started.