Collecting Barnacles

I have been collecting barnacles.

According to my research, the U.S. Navy estimates that heavy barnacle growth on its ship’s hulls increases the vessel’s weight and drag by as much as 60%. As a result, the excess poundage requires up to a 40% fuel increase to navigate the waters.

This makes sense. So, I am going to attribute my lethargy and current heavier mood this winter to an imaginary collection of these sticky little crustaceans. To validate my state of mind, I am pretending that these volcano-shaped limestone shells, that have attached themselves to my soul, are what are dragging me down.

The truck first plowed out access to our house in December. Then, the vehicle followed up with three more plows in January. Our largest snow fall was accompanied by a three-week deep freeze which turned the white mounds flanking our driveway into concrete. When I had to pass through the frozen gauntlet, my chest tightened. The stubborn snow would not melt. Brief rays of sunshine only hardened the smooth glaze surface giving the misleading appearance of a frozen wonderland. Rogue dried leaves skittered across the top crust. Squirrels stayed hidden in the trees.

Normally I do not mind the winter. Growing up in Ames, NY prepared me for winter’s challenges. Warm outerwear, good boots and when needed, a woolen face mask.

But this winter, unfamiliar barnacles were starting to take hold.

The far end of my sloping driveway became a giant frozen hunk creating a dangerous icy off-ramp. The treacherous decline warned me not to try and get the mail. But, foolish and determined, I did not heed its caution. So, I slowly slid down to the street to reach into the black mailbox on the curb only to find that the carrier had once again found it impossible to get close enough for delivery.  No mail. On my way back up the incline, my left leg gave way and I soon found myself in a downward dog position by the side of the busy roadway in my bright red jacket.

A sympathetic driver stopped his car to ask me if I was okay. “I’m fine”, I shouted through his open window, “just doing a little outdoor yoga.”  Trying to diminish my predicament, I made light of my unusual position as I struggled to figure out how to get back up the driveway. Should I crawl? Should I take off my boots and hope that my socks would stick to the ice? Eventually, I found a small clear patch for a toe hold and took a giant step to find a second spot. Once inside the house, I told my husband I would not be returning to the mailbox until spring.

More barnacles were attaching to my hull.

This year, the sun went on a prolonged vacation. I think it decided to go south where I was not going for another month. Its absence left my neighborhood gray and gloomy. Even the birds hid.

Daylight was in short supply and the shadows were long. Time crept like a giant Galápagos tortoise. To make dinner, I needed to switch on a full set of overhead kitchen lights. Although our meals were at their regular time, it seemed like we were eating at midnight. The nights were long. Bedtime could not come soon enough.

Additional barnacles gathered.

Grocery shopping. Laundry. Cleaning the bathrooms. My regular chores continued without a break. In addition, tax season loomed. Financial reports and book expenses needed to be collated. I did not anticipate a windfall return so I procrastinated and kept putting off what I knew I had to do.

Annoying barnacles grew.

Now, I know that I am very fortunate in my life’s circumstances. I acknowledge my blessings and I am very grateful for them. I know that my time on earth is not supposed to be perfect and sometimes life’s luster can  become dulled by everyday challenges. But, my usual Pollyanna demeanor became susceptible to this harsh winter season . Perhaps it was coupled with age. It tested my resolve.  Just like the Navy ships who needed more fuel to navigate when the barnacles increased, I required more energy to move forward.

Wheels up. As the airplane lifted off the ground, I immediately felt a lightness. I was finally heading to Florida for ten days. Hopefully bright sunshine would greet me and warm breezes would raise my spirits.

My beach mornings started with a cup of coffee, a toasted bagel and cream cheese, and a long walk along the shoreline. Step by step I began brushing away the barnacles.

I spent all day relaxing in a chaise under an umbrella reading Mitch Albom’s new book Twice. In between chapters I stared at the ocean. The sound of the gentle waves soothed my spirit. Flocks of birds swooped down to say hello and then took flight.

“We need to find a stranger to high five.” A young family was participating in the resort’s beach scavenger hunt. Anxious to participate, I vigorously waved my hand to catch their attention.

“Oh look, there is a stranger who wants to help.”

A mom and a dad and their two young sons approached my beach lounge chair. I sat up tall and raised my right hand. Both boys slapped my palm. Twice.

“Be careful, not too hard,” their mother warned.

“May we take a picture of your hand to prove we completed this task?”

“Of course.”

And then the youngest, a gap-tooth red-haired lad, held out his clenched fist.

“I want to give you something. I found a shell. I want you to have it,” he said exposing his sandy palm.

“Thank you.” I took the small shell from his hand and transferred it to mine. Then I bid goodbye to the family.

When I unclasped my fingers to examine the child’s gift, I was struck by what I saw. Cradled in my palm was a small shell. Dotted with several small barnacles.

Seashells littered the Marco Island beach by the thousands. But the shell the little boy was drawn to that day had tiny imperfections. Barnacles. His chosen one was not perfect and smooth. But it was the one that caught his attention.

Since December, I had been so busy trying to brush off my barnacles that I lost sight of the big picture. I think the universe directed this little guy to me that morning with a whisper, my trademark inner message. There are always going to be some barnacles—things that will weigh me down.

I love my barnacle shell.

When I got home, I put the treasure in a special spot on my desk. Now, whenever I feel pulled down by the weight of life, I reach for my little shell, examine it, and accept that a few barnacles are okay. After all, life isn’t perfect. And it took an innocent child’s gift to remind me of that important message.

Kim