Last weekend was the world premiere of A Year in Mooring, an independent film produced by my mom and brother. This brought me back to Austin for the film portion of the SXSW Festival, knocking off #28 on my 101 list. It also made me think about mooring, and what it means to be anchored.
According to Wikipedia, “A vessel is said to be moored when it is fastened to a fixed object such as a bollard, pier, quay, or the seabed, or to a floating object such as an anchor buoy.” Essentially you are anchored in one place, at a stand still, and sometimes permanently so. This is a stark contrast to what happens when you are sailing, or moving with the wind in any way—you have no idea where you might be guided.
I believe in acts of fate, and that our twenties (perhaps our entire lives) are a time to succumb to these forces. What I love about being on a boat is the convergence of having control over the work you are putting into sailing with the ultimate surrender to the forces of nature guiding you—the wind and the ocean. This is the kind of balance we all hope for. While we cede ourselves to fate, we ultimately are sharing in the navigation.
“In the summer I can taste the salt in the sea,
There’s a kite blowin’ out of control on the breeze,
I wonder what’s gonna happen to you, I wonder what’ll happen to me…
Who’s to say where the wind will take you,
Who’s to say what it is will break you,
I don’t know…Which way the wind will blow.”
No matter where we are taken, there are tokens of life that become ingrained in our DNA. These are our anchors. They are atoms that along the way shaped who we are, no matter the direction of our sail. In knowing ourselves, I believe we have to know our anchors. They will forever dictate the path we are on and shape of our lives, because they are instatiated into our blood stream, no matter the power of outside forces. It might be a teacher or a best friend. Perhaps a poem or a prayer.
Mine is my family. Especially my mother. No matter how far away I am (she is in LA, I am in NY), or how mad we are at one another (and we often are), I will always be bound. To her, and the city of Austin, TX. I will never live there again, but even in New York, Lake Austin invades my soul, and the stars and sunrise dictate my smile.
“So I’m sailing for tomorrow,
My dreams are a dyin’.
And my love is an anchor tied to you, Tied with a silver chain.
I have my ship, And all her flags are a flyin’
She is all that I have left, And music is her name.”
– Crosby, Still, & Nash, Southern Cross