I feel the water swirling around my ankles, and I hear the swish swish of the water, urging me to reach the shore and be done with it already. Why so impatient? This is supposed to be a peaceful moment. But I can’t relax. I pull the canoe behind me. Ah, it’s the canoe. It reminds me of my father. We didn’t have that close of a relationship, in fact we didn’t see each other for fifteen years. And who is this person helping me pull the canoe? He represents all the boyfriends of the past that I have chosen, rather poorly, because the canoe is supposed to be for my dad, you dipshit. What are you doing here?

I get it, we are wading in the waters of psych 101, and recognizing that my fear of abandonment originates in my relationship with my father. I never really explored that in therapy because I was focused on the theme I jokingly had with my ex husband that “everything happens when you are twelve,” and that nightmare of an event must surely have been what impacted my relationships more. But it shouldn’t be a contest, with two neuroses battling it out for attention.

So here I am, still lugging this canoe around, making artwork with these abstract shapes that look like canoes, artwork that adorned the walls of a much respected gallery for years until one day they stopped inviting me. What happened? Why didn’t they love me anymore?

The gallery owner wrote to me “we’d like to show your work in our gallery store.” Which should have been exciting. But I was too proud. No, I thought. I am the kind of artist that goes on your walls, not in your gallery store. How conceited I was. I would be honored to be in their gallery store now. I wonder if I could show them that letter from years ago, present my new work and see if they are still interested? I think I’ve found a goal. Maybe. My mind will simmer on this one. It’s all so embarrassing.

Present my new work, lol. I don’t have any new work, I better get crackin’. I don’t know if I have it in me. I mean, does that guy even look like he is helping with the canoe? I guess he is guiding it, keeping it from going astray. Let’s give him a few points for the control he is exerting. Men and control. Ugh. This is my canoe. But really, if we looked inside the canoe more closely, we’d see that it’s really about my inability to establish clear boundaries; that is where my focus should be.

My dad has been dead for several years now, so I can’t make that relationship any better, I can only look back and reflect on the way it was, and the impact our relationship had on me. I can make art, I can write in my journal, I can talk about it, I can float in my canoe.