The Wooden Stick

by HelluvaGirl

If you don’t know what to do, make a small step. Sometimes the change you want seems so vast from where you’re standing that you’d never collect the resolution to become it.

Do you know how sailors survive the sea after shipwreck?

They don’t think about swimming the ocean. Instead, they take off a small wooden stick they have hanging on their necks, throw it and then swim towards it. They throw it again, and they reach it. They throw it again and eventually they survive. The notion of the endless powerful sea would swallow them up in an instant if they didn’t just try to grab that small piece of wood within their reach.

When I was thinking about the wooden stick, you started talking the ocean. That’s where I think the Impossibility and Wrong Timing joined our company to mar the vision of the nearest future.

I know: you may not like the shape of the wooden stick, but sometimes it’s the only chance you have to get to the place you dream of.

Like me now: I often muse of living a life writing in a beautiful serene place, concocting potions of words and experience, being free from the rat race, making the days count with someone I love. But I don’t have a country house in Switzerland and I can’t quit my job to be a writer just yet. Instead, I am sitting in my sweet Suburbia on the brim of the cosy and slow Vilnius, having tea on the terrace, watching the clouds and doing what I love the most: writing and thinking of you. I can’t say I have the luxury of being anywhere close to the shore, but as soon as I start thinking of it, my soul gets heavy – and I have told myself drowning was not an option.