There’s a little rowboat waiting out there for you. There’s one waiting out there for everyone, although most people don’t realize it. Most people stay on shore and never even look out to the sea. They’re too busy finding shiny trinkets. But if they were to look out to the waves, they’d discover there’s more to life than tawdry baubles and that life continues beyond the shore, beyond the confines. They’d see the rowboat out there, waiting alone, waiting patiently.
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| There's a rowboat waiting for you. |
The rowboat never beckons.
It sits still and waits.
Oftentimes it waits for a passenger who never comes aboard. There’s nothing special about it. There are no pretty colors and no motor. It’s not a yacht or a status symbol. No one will be watching you in your rowboat,
and no one will be envious. In fact, if
anyone sees you in your rowboat at all, they’ll probably snicker to themselves.
It’s a tiny thing, but it’s yours. It’s your acknowledgement that you’re done
with the world of fool’s gold, lies, and disloyalty. It’s your ticket away from existing but not
really living, your ticket away the mediocre.
It may not be pretty, but it’s surprising seaworthy and steady, and you
can take this little rowboat wherever you want.
Some will bring it to another shore and try again. Some will bring it out to a larger boat and
sail away for good. Some will brave life
in the tiny rowboat, which while frightening is certainly better than the
nothingness from whence they came.
The rowboat is little, but it’s strong and good. If you’re lucky enough to find it, don’t
tarry. Go out to the little boat and
trust your senses. You are stronger than
you think.
