Harbor

By Stephanie Linehan

A new job means a new community of colleagues who haven’t necessarily heard all your life stories.  A chance to revisit stories that made you who you are.  Deep rooted in your past.  And life changing.  I student-taught at an American school in Yaounde, Cameroon.  A west-central, French-speaking African country.  I was an elementary education major with a French minor so when my advisor suggested it, I said, ‘Why not!’  

Weekend excursions were few as we had to rely on school transportation which was an older, white, 8-passenger van with a driver skilled at very bumpy, red-dirt roads.  Most of the staff was at the hostel.  A fellow teacher and I headed towards the port for an afternoon stroll.  As we talked, I listened to the locals as we passed by.  They were telling us (in French) that we shouldn’t be there.  I didn’t quite comprehend why.  We continued to stroll, talk, and just kept our heads down.  All of a sudden, we were approached and attacked.  I remember the waist of a very tall man (not his face) with khaki pants and a light-colored, collared button down long sleeve shirt (This stands out because even in the tropical climate, people dressed so fully).  His long arms grabbed at my purse and pulled it over my head from across my shoulder.  As my colleague kicked the man, he dropped my purse and grabbed at his leg.  The eagle feather of my colleague, a coveted treasure from teaching on a Native American reservation, falls to the ground.  It all happens so fast. A small, four-door sedan pulls up next to us.  Those same locals this time are coaxing us to get in the car.  Hesitation and questioning trust comes over us but we go anyway.  We’re just stunned.  He takes us to where we are staying.  

One winter a handful of years ago,  we were en route to a hockey weekend in Superior, WI.  Not even halfway there, we get a call that the games have been canceled.  The handful of families already on their way all decide to go anyway.  We had so much fun!  Just ask any of us, we solved all the world’s problems that weekend.  And we definitely had all of the RFYHA figured out.  LOL!  A highlight was eating at the Anchor Bar that was featured in the cable television show Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives.  A harbor hot spot back in the shipping days.  

We work out with friends a handful of mornings each week and Saturdays.  Julie composes our 30-minute cardio/weight workouts and we always end with coffee talk that lasts just as long.  Wink, wink.  You just really never know where material for your blog will emerge and well, it was one particular early morning workout over black, regular Folgers, gym coffee that this theme of harboring something came to light for me.  That exact phrase was part of our conversation.  And it got me thinking, what all are people harboring?  Coveting?  Guarding? Keeping?  Hiding?  Or perhaps … hoping someday someone will uncover?  

How many of us are holding on to something we hope people will never, ever learn or figure out or know about us? How long are we willing to hold that?  Harbor that?  See where I’m going with this?  I truly love words so much.  Do people have secrets, hopes, dreams, yearnings … or shame, embarrassment, honesty, truth … they keep to themselves or are they dying to tell someone or are they hopeful people will just find out regardless?  Maybe they hope it leaks out so they don’t have to be the one to admit it or tell the whole story.  Maybe if someone else figures it out, you don’t have to worry or wonder about their reaction or judgement.  Maybe they’ll be more human, down-to-earth, and caring if they find out in a round-about kind of way instead of in a direct or surprising way.  Maybe, just maybe, they’ll say ‘me too.’  

What are you harboring?  Keeping safe and protecting? 

-

Some of the strongest people I've met are the ones who simply needed someone to finally listen, not fix, not judge, just hear. - Unknown

And sometimes it’s hard to know what to share and what to keep sacred. - Unknown

Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known. - Unknown

“I’m fine,” I say,

because it’s easier

than explaining the weight

of something I can't name.

I laugh so they don’t look too closely,

I answer quickly so they don’t worry,

I show up even when I’m breaking,

so they don’t see I’m hurting.

I’ve mastered the art of appearing okay.

So if you ask how I’m doing, 

I’ll still say,

“I’m fine.”

Because if I tell the truth, 

I might finally break.

• Unknown