“I don’t know how to tell you this… [your brother] passed away this morning.” I had to read the message several times before I processed it. Then my legs stopped holding me up.
It could be worse. I have somewhere safe to stay, I have enough food. Objectively, I’m doing well — it could be worse.
“I hate this,” he said. “I know most of them are just fishing boats, but because I know at least a few of them are pirates, I have to treat them all as if they’re going to attack us. And I can’t stay away from all of them or we’ll never get home.”
It’s okay to stop fighting. If I can’t breathe, I choose to stop trying. When it's my choice, there’s no need to panic: I’m in control. That pause, that absence of panic, gives me a chance to deal with the problem. That applies to the rest of life as well.
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They sold my ship in February. It was Friday, in mid-Pacific. The captain read us the email just before dinner. Most of the crew were somewhere between upset and angry, but I just felt relieved, as if I’d been freed from a prison I hadn’t realised I was in. The company offered me a transfer... Continue Reading →