When life tosses you around like a dory in an ocean storm, your first instinct is to grab for the rails. But if the waves are high enough, even the boat feels like a liability. Over the last year, I’ve been tossed around like a rag doll. From a cardiac event (and the resulting pacemaker) to career instability, a third move in two years, and the shifting tides of relationships—it felt like my feet were permanently planted on uncertain ground.

I wobbled. A lot. But I’ve learned that if I keep moving forward, I would eventually find a sturdier shore.

The Power of Reaching Out

I’d like to say I stayed upright on my own, but that wouldn’t be true. There were dark moments where I wasn't sure of my own strength. In those times, I had to reach out to a few close friends—women so dear they are essentially sisters—and simply say: I am struggling.

Their response wasn't just words; it was immediate action. They held me while I cried and reminded me that I don’t have to navigate these storms alone. Their love is one of many anchors.

Counting My Anchors

Now, when I look back at how dark the sky got, I can see the anchors that kept me from drifting out to sea. When things feel wobbly again, as they do right now with an uninvited career transition, I use these "touchstones" to remind myself that I have survived 100% of my hardest days.

My anchors include:

• Family: My children and granddaughter.

• Community: My dear friends, yoga practice , running community. The people who breathe alongside me.

• Independence: The realization that I am strong enough to not need a partner to be whole.

• Perspective: Recognizing that I chose a career path that is, by nature, unstable. I have a choice: I can ride the storm, or I can look for a different port.

The Magic of an "Ordinary" Day

Today was an amazing day! The sun was warm enough to feel on my face. My grown daughter fed me a bowl of delicious chili and in return I gave her a foot massage. We shared a quiet, connective exchange of care. My granddaughter blew me a million kisses when I said goodnight. A stranger told me he was a fan of my son’s music, filling me with a burst of motherly pride. I even spent my first night in a new apartment, sharing a space with my son and his girlfriend. After living alone for two years, it finally felt like coming home. These aren't just "nice moments"; they are the weight that keeps me grounded when the wind picks up.

What Are Your Anchors?

If you can identify your anchors early and often, it’s much easier to reach for them when the storm hits. You don't have to wait for the clouds to clear to feel grateful; sometimes, the anchor is most effective right in the middle of the gale.

So, I ask you: When the ground feels uncertain and you start to wobble, what are the things—or who are the people—that keep you from drifting away?