I'm looking over the cuts I gained from this trip as Catalina fades into the fog and the trail of our boat wake, once a liquid line connecting us to her, begins to dissolve. There's one on my right index finger from bashing it into the metal weight on our stern line when I was climbing it down into the ocean to see how far I could go with both my breath and my bravery. The other is from nicking my left pinkie on the railing as I was pulling the dinghy up to the big boat. I used to be much more skittish about driving that dinghy, but I think I have found my confidence in it for now. At least you don't have any blind spots.
There are fortunately no other injuries (besides my broken finger from about five weeks ago). Especially not the emotional kind. The reason for this isn't because there wasn't any pain or arguing on this trip. There was. You see, my sister and I got in a fight on day two; right in the morning, right after breakfast when I still had raspberries on my plate I was gonna eat. Which sister it was isn't really important because I have fought with each of them about different things throughout our lives together. Over beanie babies and bitty babies and attention and copycating and differences of opinion. One time Danielle and I even fought over a cowboy at wilderness camp. He wasn't into either of us. He was 23, she was 14 and I was a 17 year old wearing Osh Kosh overalls...
None of this really matters either.
I learned something about fighting on this trip, something I might have always known, but not in a real confident kind of way. And not what you might think: that it isn't healthy or it isn't appropriate (which is maybe what I've thought at times). But that I fight with the people who are worth it to me. I fight with them because they matter and we mutually want our relationship to grow. It's not often and it's not ongoing, which is good, because if that was the case I might think we need therapy. But when they come, those fights that at first feel like heartburn, being caught in the rain and getting yelled at on your birthday eventually bring us closer. I am fighting with my sister so we can be better friends. I am fighting internally with myself to be a better version.
Something about admitting you argue with people feels embarrassing, like there is something wrong with you, but it's impossible to get along all the time and there is something wrong with everybody. I think we should all probably just get over feeling ashamed of it. It's important to fight for what matters: people, relationships, love, growth.
Maybe this epiphany I seem to have finally had, or at least finally written down, isn't really all that groundbreaking. I'm pretty sure that's the case, but it feels like a pretty big deal in my mind. Like that time I realized I wasn't a weird person just because I was an introvert.
It's freeing to admit that I argue with the people I love because I am fighting for them.
My sister and I hugged when we were finally back to understanding one another again and joined the group playing Scattergories in the salon. While I was sitting there with my tiny pencil in my hand, I had this intense feeling that I had already experienced this moment. Like one of those flashback scenes from a movie. Scott always tells me that deja vu means you're on the right path.
What are your thoughts on arguing? Do you do it, avoid it, embrace it, feel bad...?
p.s. sisters poem
p.p.s. "my dad is 60?" video