Turning

I've been saying it for a bit now: I've turned the battleship around. You know the battleship. It's the heavy, irresistible thing that was pointed in a direction long ago. Easier to stay the course, if I may sound like Bush Sr. for a moment. Why I didn't realize I was off course, well....

Say that's true- the ship's momentum is stopped now -how do I proceed? Can't just fire up the engines again and point myself somewhere. I know that I can't yet chart a true course. Hell, I'm not sure if I'm in the ocean, a pond or a wading pool. Whatever body of water I'm in, I decided to be patient, to sit and pay attention. Willing to turn off the autopilot and tease out the details around me. I'll judge which direction I should head in, correct course as needed, wanted.

This is all about something simple. I might choose well and I might make mistakes but I am going to decide. Teenagers, adults, mid-life crisists, and elders make this kind of life-stage declaration, this strategic rebellion. Maybe it's not even as grand as turning a battleship, more like a cruise ship. You can layer rust into the comparison as well. So much to maintain and shine.

God knows that I no longer need a ship of that size, insulation and protection, guns or no. I want to offload what I need and want onto a more personal, nimble craft. I want to feel the bump of consequence and know that it happened because I pointed myself there.

Have I described this change accurately? Whether this has been a hopeful whisper to myself, the real deal or just a wet finger in the air, I can't say with any confidence. But I am the guy who's sitting here floating, looking: waiting to turn.