Repairing my broken mermaid tail--and my confidence

Have you ever lost your confidence and your inspiration all at once? I have. But a mermaid helped me find my way again.

I draw strength and inspiration from being near the water, so it's only natural that I'd be inspired by mermaids. Some people insist mermaids are mythical creatures, but I've met mermaids and have photographic evidence to prove it. 

When my cousin, Donette and I brought the Whidbey Island Mermaid an offering of our leftover pizza, she kissed my forehead (the mermaid, not my cousin). 

The Whidbey Island Mermaid kissing my forehead

Once I met the Whidbey Island Sirens Pod, who invited me to sit a spell with them. They even entrusted me to hold their treasure chest brimming with jewels. 

Me hanging out with mermaids

My admiration of mermaids began 14 years ago when I was starting over after my divorce. A friend gifted me a confidant, cheeky mermaid that hangs from a beaded wire. Written on her fin is this favorite Oscar Wilde quote:

Be yourself.

Everyone else is already taken.

 

My cheeky mermaid 

In those early days of standing on my own again, I needed those words. Often. 

In my first apartment post-divorce, I hung the mermaid in a prominent place as a reminder to be my authentic self. Over the years, the mermaid and I moved many times: from that first tiny apartment to the World War II era duplex to Wisteria Cottage (with no running water, heat or bathroom!) to a lovely mother-in-law suite in the home of friends, to a fifth-wheel RV on a ranch in wild Eastern Oregon and back to my friends' suite.

Somewhere along the way, the mermaid's tail fell off. And then the beaded wire hanger fell off, too. I tucked her safely into a zippered bag and planned to repair her--one day. Instead, I forgot about my confidant, cheeky mermaid. 

Sometimes in the darkest moments, without the cheeky mermaid to cheer me on, I lost my confidence. I forgot how to be my authentic self.

Recently, I moved again when I bought my own home. As I unpacked box after box, I found my treasured mermaid. She was broken. Disheveled. Her confidence and cheekiness had waned considerably. I vowed I would reattach her tail and her hanger so that she can again be her confident, cheeky self. 

First, I tried reattaching her tail with jeweler's wire, but it fell off. I reattached it again. Same result. And again. The third time was not the charm. Sometimes when I have a vision of creating something or fixing something, it doesn't go as smoothly as I had envisioned. Can you relate?

So I moved on to Plan B: Use a rubber band AND jeweler's wire to reattach her tail. I grabbed my little jar of doo-dads. (Do you have one of these, too?) Inside the jar I save plastic closures for bread bags and wire twistees. Around the outside of the jar I wrap rubber bands I salvage. I found the perfect rubber band.

My jar of doo-dads

It worked! Within a few minutes, I had repaired the mermaid and hung her in my bathroom window. 

From now on, every morning as I am getting ready for the day, my cheeky mermaid will encourage me to be my authentic self. And her confidence and cheekiness is sure to inspire me to dig deep and find my own.

With my mermaid encouraging me every morning to "be myself," how can I fail?

My cheeky, encouraging mermaid hanging in my bathroom window

Passing confidence and joy on to my daughter

Yesterday, my talented, amazing daughter, Katie, and I celebrated her 27th birthday by trying SUP--stand-up paddle boarding. I'm all about giving her an empowering experience to celebrate her special day rather than buying a trinket that would soon be forgotten. She'd mentioned she wanted to try SUP. I was happy to provide this adventure.

In the past few years, I've arranged several mother-daughter adventures that bond us together. These experiences have made us stronger, more confident women, too. And we always have fun!

One Mother's Day a couple of years ago, I took Katie to an archery range and taught her to shoot a bow. She's become a very good shot.

On the archery range for Mother's Day

We've gone hiking in the Columbia River Gorge multiple times. 

Kate hiking in the Columbia River Gorge

Last summer we rode a zip line at a family reunion. 

Kate ready to ride a zip line last summer.

Yesterday I was not surprised that Katie was a natural on the stand-up paddling board. With her years of dance experience and the muscles she's developed as a baker for Salt & Straw, she stood up with ease. When I was still summoning the nerve to try standing up, she was already paddling with confidence. That made me smile. 

A couple of years ago, I'd tried SUP twice, and it was easy. Then I was strong and balanced easily on the wide board. My dragon boating and kayaking instincts took over. I didn't have any fear. I was the Mighty Woman who reinvented myself at age 50 and went on one fearless adventure after another. Along the way, as I changed and grew, I modeled strength, courage and resilience for my daughter.

But yesterday on the paddle board, it was different. I was different. Although Katie and her boyfriend, Keegan stood up effortlessly and paddled along the lake, I still was kneeling on my board. I had to dig deep within myself to find the courage to stand up. 

It was the first time I'd tried SUP since crushing both my wrists 10 months ago. I knew I've lost strength and agility. I was prepared for that. But what I hadn't realized until I climbed onto the board is that I've also lost my Dragon Diva dose of confidence. My fearlessness. Preparing to stand up, I moved from kneeling on the board to crouching with my feet placed so they were perfectly balanced. At that point, the old me would have stood up and started paddling. But I couldn't. Irrational fear gripped me. Instead, I had to give myself my go-to pep talk: "You're a Mighty Woman. You're the woman with the dragon tattoo. You can do this!"

After breathing deeply to calm myself, I tried to stand up, but the board wobbled and I quickly knelt back down. I tried again, and again. At one point, I stood, started paddling, but lost my balance and fell hard on my my hands--and therefore, my wrists. That scared me. I have permanent titanium plates in both wrists. My surgeon said it would take quite a force to damage my wrists again. But falling so hard on my wrists made me even more tentative. When I finally stood up, my legs felt like Jell-o. The paddling part was easy. The balancing part? Not as easy. But I did it!

After I stood up and was paddling, I looked over at my daughter. She'd fallen off her board into the lake. Immediately she climbed back on and stood up again. Just like that! I smiled at my beautiful, courageous daughter, who has climbed some pretty tough mountains the past couple of years. She's a survivor, that daughter of mine. Just like her mama. With the sun shining on the lake, she paddled with a strong stroke--and grinned. Standing on wobbly legs, I paddled strong strokes too. We are Mighty Women, after all.

Kate and me after stand-up paddle boarding on Lacamas Lake.
 I didn't take any  photos of her paddle boarding because 
I was busy trying to stand up on my own board.

This weekend I gave my daughter another gift: my purple bike named Joy. I bought the sturdy, fat-tired Schwinn at a neighborhood estate sale years ago. I named my bike Joy because at the time, I hungered for joy in my life. Together, Joy and I explored the neighborhood and the Columbia River waterfront. Riding Joy gave me the courage to face the unhappiness in my life and to reach toward the hope of a joyful future. I've certainly found a joyful life. But I hadn't ridden Joy much in the past couple of years because my life was so full with dragon boating, kayaking, hiking, learning to swing dance and having many other adventures.

Last week when Katie mentioned that she'd like a bike with a basket to ride to the grocery store and around the neighborhood, I replied: "I'll give you Joy!"

"Really? I've always loved Joy!" she beamed.

When we unloaded the bike at Katie's house, I told her: "I am giving you Joy. Remember that Joy now lives in your house. You can ride her around the neighborhood whenever you need a dose of Joy."

Passing the torch of Joy to my daughter felt so right.Now she will be filled with joy and confidence, too--and ready for her next adventure.

My purple bike named Joy on a ride to the Columbia River.

Passing Joy, my purple garage-sale bike, on to my daughter.