Hold Fast

If I were going to get a tattoo of anything, it would be a bull kelp. Bull kelp create massive underwater forests that provide important habitat for sea creatures. Their bottoms anchor to rocks so their tops—gas-filled balloons adorned with long, flowing “blades”—can reach toward the light and move with the currents and tides. The bottom’s twisted roots are called a “holdfast”. I’m not a diver so I’ve never seen them underwater, but they’re often washed up and look like small versions of the massive root system of a storm-toppled tree.

This Substack’s name, “Anchor and Muse”, comes from a Walt Whitman poem, “A Noiseless Patient Spider”, about a musing soul searching for an anchor. I like that “anchor” and “muse” are both nouns and verbs. They reflect our need to be rooted in our interior life so that we can venture out without being swept away.

I recently read When Marnie Was There, a lovely children’s novel set in a small English seaside town, the basis for the Studio Ghibli film of the same name. In the novel, the protagonist’s bedroom features an embroidery of an anchor with the words, “Hold fast to the good”. “Hold fast to the good” comes from 1 Thessalonians: “Do not despise prophecies, but test everything; hold fast what is good.” I’m still unsure what this has to do with the novel, but as soon as I read that, I wanted to embroider it too.

There was no such pattern online, so I decided to make my own. You can do this yourself: find some clip art online, use your computer as a light box to transfer the design onto fabric with a pencil, then running-stitch the lines. Easy! Just kidding; all my stitches like sheep went astray, each of them to their own way. As I ripped them out again and again, I imagined scandalizing Jane Austen by my haphazard approach. It’s still pretty wonky, but I’ve used up what patience I possess.

I thought this embroidery would make a good image for Anchor and Muse. This is what I want to exemplify in my writing and my life. To “hold fast to the good” isn’t to anxiously cling or to worry that we’ll be blown off track if we consider another perspective or a troublesome thought. It’s to develop a solid, quiet centre, an identity out of which we can test what comes our way. We can be flexible as tides change, open to the mysterious shifts of the sea, but still connected to our anchor.

One of my favourite questions to ask people is, “What adjective would you want written on your gravestone?” I chose the word “steadfast”. It’s aspirational; I’ll be working on it until death. In true artsy-person fashion, I struggle with discipline and consistency. Paperwork and routine feel stifling. I would rather muse—or brood, to be more accurate. I want to be committed, grounded, and true. I want to persevere through hard things and sacrifice for long-term goals. I want to throw out moldy things in the fridge, change my sheets each week, and not cry every tax season. Yet I still want to be my adaptable, fun-loving, emotional self, the one that says, “What the heck, let’s get wild and make up an embroidery.”