Drop Anchor

Ever had one of those moments when you suddenly realize… hang on a sec… why am I juggling so many things at once?

You try to remember how, or when these random elements showed up—seemingly all at once. Here you are, trying your best not to drop the ball, literally and figuratively, as you ponder how you managed to get shanghaied like some sideshow anomaly in the crazy circus of life.

For me, this invariably starts in my mind. By nature, I’m classified as a contemplator—essentially an introvert with a mind that refuses to shut down—sometimes even when asleep. (I hate when that happens). In truth, Technically, I am an ambivert—someone who gets recharged in solitude, but is still able to function in more populous environments, where full-blooded introverts normally hide in bathrooms at parties every 20 minutes just to keep from hyperventilating.

And I know what some of you are thinking—no self-respecting introvert would ever be caught at a party…. at least not after 8pm without a personal oxygen respirator. Ok, I admit I do lean more towards the solitude side of the spectrum.

So when questions arise from the always running conversations in my mind, (and yes, conversing with myself is a thing— these conversational processes have been known to enter the twilight zone when I begin to answer my own questions. I’m sure there’s some Behavioral-Psych-related doctoral thesis floating around somewhere which speaks to the malady that causes me to do this.

These mental gymnastics have taught me the-not-so-beneficial intricacies, nuances (and risks) of compartmentalization. (That’s gotta be the biggest word I’ve used this year), and I know one or two of my friends reading this will disagree— you know who you are ). 😏

Let me offer an analogy to assist. Think of my brain as an ocean going container ship with multiple steel containers stacked upon its deck. Within each container is an aspect of my life and thoughts about who I am.

An employee
A writer
A mourning father
An Ex-Commercial Pilot
A friend
A husband
A Grandfather
An uncle
A son
A techno-dweeb / flight simulator geek / motorcyclist / nerd (take your pick)

My emotions
My opinions
My hopes and dreams
My fears

My nothing

Yes, that’s right; I have a container reserved for absolutely nothing. Nothing enters in and therefore nothing goes out. It may very well be my favourite space. So, when someone asks me what’s on my mind, if I have been fortunate to have escaped into my nothing space (which lately, has been frustratingly few and far between), I can unequivocally answer truthfully—absolutely nothing! For some inexplicable reason, a look of skepticism always seems to form on their face.

The point is—and this is key, the contents of each container always remain isolated from each other. No two containers ever have their contents mixed. I believe this may be a default function of carbon based Homo Sapien lifeforms with Y chromosomes. 🤔

From my decidedly unscientific and unauthorized control group, men (in general), are more adept at compartmentalizing. This is not to say women cannot function in this manner. I have female friends (pilots, engineers, police and military officers, medical doctors, PhD candidates) who are just as compartmentally capable. Oh, and let’s not forget those who are also Working Moms, full-time Homemakers and/or Homeschoolers. The mental agility and just plain core strength of character needed to operate in that capacity, usually on a 24/7 rotational cycle, would break most men. Just sayin’.

Continuing with the ship analogy; the ocean is not always calm and serene. Wind swept waves on occasion arise when storms form along the path of the ship’s trajectory, and even though the containers are sealed, and their respective contents don’t mix, they still get jostled or thrown around, and dare I say, in some cases, they break. (See? That empty container is looking mighty good now, isn’t it?)

Now gentlemen (and yes, ladies), what do you do in situations like that, when you’ve purposely kept things sealed and separated, in the vain hope that if you cordon off the different sections of your life, (from yourself and others), you will have more control over each of them? But when storm waves surge along your path and begin to breach your deck, it’s extremely difficult, if not impossible to juggle the once seemingly ordered elements of your life.

Ships which get caught in such environments have an option to counter the raging effects of storms. They can deploy their anchor, which not only acts as a focal point for centering the ship, it allows the ship leeway (freedom) to move with the currents arrayed against it.

(OK…disclaimer: even though I piloted aircraft in the past, and while there is a high degree of terminology overlap between maritime and upper atmospheric vehicles [like navigation and distance units] I don’t have the same depth of understanding about marine craft, therefore I may be a tad loose with this analogy, but I am sure you will get the drift (yes, pun intended).

The ship is tied to the anchor via a chain, and that chain is oblivious to what is taking place above the surface of the water, and on top of the deck. Its purpose is to hold the ship steady via connection to the anchor. Its function encapsulates and overrides every single container on board. It’s not limited or restricted by any of the containers’ steel walls, which keep the respective contents separated. It has an unwavering target lock on the anchor which is keeping both ship and containers from being swept away.

Metaphorically, I aim to mirror the function of the chain—anchoring my faith to the One who not only stills physical storms, but also quiets the spiritual and mental ones, which can—and often do—form with frustrating regularity, usually at the most inconvenient times.

You too can hold fast to that Anchor.

“He calmed the storm to a whisper and stilled the waves. What a blessing was that stillness as he brought them safely into harbor!” - Psalms 107:29-30 NLT