While cleaning rooms this morning I was ‘planning’ which was actually more like Anxiously Going In Circles In My Head about What’s Next. I was thinking about acting, about traveling, about getting off the boat, about where I’m going to land and about how little I know and how much I would like to know. I was thinking about how I didn’t want to be thinking about all of this because I was just circling without getting anywhere. I was thinking about wanting to be in this moment here and now. Mostly I was thinking about acting and Next and MasterWorks.
There were whales about us, humpbacks, fluking and surfacing. Every now and again I’d stop making a bed or spraying Lysol and jump out to watch a minute. I had much to do, it was sheet change day, early lunch, breakfast ran late and I still had to vacuum so I didn’t linger like I might have but I still watched every now and again. At breakfast I had screeched as mealtime began because right outside the Port side window I saw a fluke and it glittered beautifully all around the edges in the bright morning light.
Stepping out of room 105 to look for whales one of the guests, a man from Manhattan, came to let me know they were out of washcloths. We were waiting for a new load that afternoon so I hadn’t been able to replenish yet. He was understanding about it and started talking with me as we both looked over the railing for whales. I had introduced his room and he and his wife, Marilyn, had cracked me up with their New York banter. They are a friendly couple and I enjoyed meeting them.
“Two more weeks huh? And what will you do next?” John asks me.
“Well I know I want to act, but I have to figure out where I’m going to land.”
“You want to act. That’s a hard life.”
I know. Thus the circles in my head. I feel like a consistent plan and schedule as an actor is about as feasible as nailing sand to the ground.
“I know. But it’s what I love. It’s what I’m good at. It’s what I need to do.”
“You know you can do a lot of things and act. You can be a CEO,” this next is whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “or a politician.”
I chuckle at this. That’s true.
“I want to tell stories. I want to tell good stories.”
At this John begins to talk about the importance of stories and of fairy tales. He is apparently a psychologist and tells me of a book that talks about how fairy tales are important for children because they talk about life, about things that they will one day have to face, in a way that they can grasp, in a way that isn’t blatant, crass, or over the head. He tells about patients that he’s dealt with in a hospital who had problems with impulse control. And how they had been told all of their lives “Just don’t do this. Don’t behave that way. This is bad.” And they hear it, comprehend it, know it, but don’t implement it. So he tells them a story, the story of The Tortoise and the Hare by Aesop. And how the Tortoise plods along while the Hare blasts away and then takes a rest because he feels he doesn’t have to work so hard when he will obviously win the race. And how the Tortoise just keeps plodding, passes up the sleeping Hare and ultimately wins the race.
“Slow and steady wins the race”
John said that after this story some of his patients would stop having problems with impulse control in the hospital. He didn’t know that this particular story was in itself a good reminder for me as I often get so frustrated at my pace versus the pace of other stewards. But that’s besides the point. After sharing this with me he says,
“So when you say that you want to tell stories, I say more power to you.” Because stories are important he says, and you could help someone to see something, he says.
I smile and I say thank you. It feels like a moment of, a conversation of grace, and I am thankful for it. And if this tortoise hadn’t been at the pace she was on her rooms, the conversation wouldn’t have happened.
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