Lean on me

Today I went on a works outing (another one, I know, I know....)
We were all ferried out by coach to an area called Loon op Zand. It's a large area of driftsand, and is commonly referred to as the Brabants Sahara.

It's quite breathtakingly beautiful. I remember the first time I clambered up the small incline and clapped my eyes on the wide open space, sand as far as the eye could see. It took my breath away. I still feel that frisson , and I've been there many times now.

We were to be given an inspirational talk by a guest speaker. Hm, you could cut the cynicsm with a knife. The word 'inspiring' is bandied about so much, it has become rather uninspiring.

Anyway, it was a day off, free food and drink, and we all filed in and dutifully sat down.

The speaker (literally) rolled up, took to the small stage and won our hearts with great speed.
He was a cabaret artist he said, his jokes and puns came rat-tat-tatting at us like a machine gun for the first 10 minutes or thereabouts.

He started to tell us about the time he went surfboarding; a large wave came along, swept him upwards, and brutally threw him back down again, breaking his neck in one fell swoop.

Silence in the conference room.

He more or less said his goodbyes, there, lying motionless in the water, gulping what he thought was his last breaths, trying to keep afloat, his body of no use.

Then, another wave came along, and swept him upwards, with a view of the bright blue sky above. He somehow landed on the beach, his first image when he got there was of a Portugese lifeguard, vastly overweight, his body squeezed into tight red Speedo trunks.

As soon as he saw that flabby vision in lycra, he suddenly decided that if that if this were to be his very last image on earth, he was determined not to die there an then.

And so began a period of time in intensive care, months, years of revalidation.
Surfing accidents are common in that area, and nightly panic attacks of the victims even more so.
The doctors are so used to them, they usually leave the patients to them, alone and frightened, trapped in a motionless body. Except for Carlos, the night doctor. He came and touched his shoulder, the one he still had feeling in, and that small act of humanity saved his life.

He sat in his wheelchair telling us this, and you could have heard a pin drop. Jaap was the chap's name, I can safely say he inspired me. Thank you, Jaap.

Yesterday morning, a simple act of gentleness came to me from an unexpected quarter. And in the evening, knowing I was feeling very down after my crisis of confidence didn't stop a very dear friend from literally spamming and stalking me with text messages, urging me to come out for a drink and a few hugs.
She lied about the few; the cuddles came a-plenty ;)

We can't all stand straight upwards all of the time, sometimes, like this heavily leaning shed I spotted during our afternoon walk, we need a bit of gentle support to help us to stand tall again.

Sometimes it's just the little things that mean the most. Honestly.