Wendi lives on a tugboat. Not a large ship, not a luxury yacht —but a sturdy, weather-worn tug that knows how to work with the sea rather than fight it. The boat is her home. Her sanctuary. Her companion. And she is not alone. Two dogs live with her —constant shadows, loyal hearts, warm bodies curled beside her at night. They know the rhythms of the water, the moods of the wind, and most of all, they know her.

 

Right now, the tugboat is resting near a small Greek island. The sea is calm. Sunlight spills across the deck in soft silver threads. The air smells of salt and warmth and time slowing down. Wendi is sitting on the deck, wrapped in a light blanket. Her body is healing. Her dogs lie close, one at her feet, one pressed gently against her side. And as the boat rocks almost imperceptibly beneath her, she begins to remember.

 

She remembers Australia —wide skies, endless horizons, the feeling of being small and free all at once. She remembers being a girl in America, watching storms roll in, learning how thunder can be frightening and beautiful at the same time. She remembers rough seas —waves that tested her courage, nights when sleep came in fragments, days when the sun returned as if nothing had happened.

 

The sea has been her teacher. It taught her patience. It taught her humility. It taught her that resistance only makes things harder —and that cooperation, listening, adapting, is how you survive.

 

Her dogs shift slightly, sensing her thoughts. They always seem to know when she’s drifting inward. They have protected her more times than she can count. And there was one time…one moment…when everything changed. She had gone out walking, exploring unfamiliar land. An old mineshaft lay hidden beneath weathered boards, not properly marked, not properly protected. One step. Just one foot placed in the wrong spot. The boards broke. And she fell. Down into darkness. Down into stillness. Down into pain.

 

At the bottom of the mineshaft, injured and alone, time stretched in strange ways. Fear arose — of course it did. Shock. The mind searching for blame, for reasons, for “if only.” But something else arose too. As she lay there, unable to move, she remembered the sea. She remembered every crossing, every storm, every sunrise. She remembered everything she had already survived. And she realised —this moment, too, is part of the journey.

 

She spoke to herself — not with cruelty, not with judgement or shame —but with kindness. “How human of me,” she whispered:

- How human to misstep.

- How human to get hurt.

- How human to suffer.

 

And instead of turning against herself, she turned towards herself. With care. With compassion. With a quiet determination to stay alive. That remembering — that deep remembering of who she was, what she had learned ,and how gently life must sometimes be held —gave her the strength to endure. To be found. To heal. To return. And now, here she is. Back on the deck of her tugboat. The sea breathing beneath her once more. Her dogs watching her with eyes that say, you’re safe now.

 

She talks to them softly, telling them stories they already know. About places they’ve been. About mistakes that became teachers. About how fragile — and how resilient — a life can be. She knows now, in her bones, that life is transient.That a single moment —a misplaced step —can change everything. And yet…There is still beauty. There is still love. There is still movement forward. Healing requires patience. Recovery asks for tenderness. The sea does not rush — and neither does she. She is learning to kiss life with a light caress. To hold it gently. To stop taking it so seriously that she forgets to love it.

 

She forgives herself again and again. She rests when she needs to. She listens. And as the sun lowers toward the horizon, casting gold across the water, Wendi feels a quiet peace settle inside her. Not because everything is perfect —but because she is no longer at war with herself. This is what the sea has taught her. That suffering does not mean failure. That kindness is strength. That freedom begins the moment we stop abandoning ourselves. And she wants you to know this too. That whatever mineshaft you’ve fallen into —whatever storm you’re navigating —there is a way through.

 

With patience.

 

With compassion.

 

With a gentle hand placed on your own heart. You, too, can find freedom from suffering.

 

This is what the sea has taught me. And as the tugboat rocks softly beneath the stars,Wendi breathes —and rests —and lets life hold her, just as she is.