My ship has sunk so many times I should be at the bottom of the ocean. I've hit icebergs and reefs, broken my mast and got swept away in tsunamis. I've lost my compass and been stranded on a lonesome island. Been sucked into a vortex and shot down by an Armada of much bigger ships. I should be a dead fish in the water, belly up, my smelly rump washed up on shore.
But no, I'm still here, scars and all, well and alive, snatched from the claws of oblivion for the umpteenth time. Twenty-two times, to be sure, in just one short year. I've got more lives than a cat and more saviors than a religion. Just this week I got pulled out of the algae two more times. So tonight, all dried off and with ample oxygen in my lungs, I'd like to shout out a big Thank You, Hallelujah, and Amen to my flock of angels, the Robin Hoods of the Kossack cyber sea: The Rescue Rangers!
Until I came here a couple of years ago I had only heard tales about the deep gratitude survivors feel toward the people who save their lives. It wasn't until the first time I got pulled out of the stormy waters here at daily kos that the almost spiritual dimension of being granted a second chance really "sunk in" for me. Perhaps it was no coincidence that my first leaky hull and ensuing rescue came on the heels of a diary entitled Blaspheming at the Altar of Technology.
They say that which doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, and so I just kept setting sail and casting my scrawling net, far and wide, in all four directions, toward horizons unknown. No matter how far out there I got, whenever the wind stopped blowing and I got lost at sea I was miraculously pulled back into a safe harbor that night for all to see, as if guided by invisible hands.
But this is not about me. It's about these invisible hands that scour the orange sea day-in and day-out, on the lookout for all the brave souls who've poured their hearts into their pens (keyboards) and wrote a whale of a diary just to be swallowed up by the prevailing winds. This one is for the whole crew of sailors who dive into the salty waters to pick those unheralded gems out of a whole school of fish. They're the Bodhisattvas of the Great Orange Satan, and I'd like to take this opportunity to take a deep bow to each and every one of you who has rescued my floundering self these past 10 months (some of you more than once), in no particular order:
jlms qkw
mtperson
vcmvo2
srkp23
mem from somerville
Elise
ybruti
BentLiberal
Louisiana 1976
shayera
HoosierDeb
watercarrier4diogenes
jennyjem
ItsJessMe
and yes, even the captain himself, Meteor Blades, has thrown me a lifeline.
So what does it all mean, you may ask? Well, for one, it means that heroes come in all shapes and forms, and quite often they do not end up on the podiums or in the headlines of the world. They just keep lifting others up because they feel like an honest effort deserves recognition. It also means that no matter how new or uninitiated you are in this big kossack pond you've got some kindred spirits looking out for you. And yes, it means that your hard work does not go unnoticed, even if you don't have witty diary titles, a big fan club, or write about the hot topic du jour. It means that no matter how unattainable things may seem, it's worth staying true to yourself and your mission, because you never know who might listen.
So this one goes out to all the rescue rangers past and present who keep making sure that even small turtles like myself get washed ashore...
Update from vcmvo2 in the comments:
Our captain is actually SusanG who started this wonderful enterprise and who has taught us to look for good writers and to rescue them so that they don't get discouraged and that they continue to write!