'Safe Harbor' is a state of mind... it's the place - in reality

Host: The ocean roared just beyond the windowpane, its voice low and constant, like an old companion whispering the same truth again and again. The night had drawn itself around the cottage, soft and full of salt, while inside, the fireplace hummed with quiet flame. The air smelled of driftwood and rain, and the sound of wind wove through the rafters like breath through a sleeping body.

Host: Jack sat near the hearth, elbows on knees, staring into the fire as though trying to read something in its flicker. Jeeny sat cross-legged on the rug, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea. On the mantel above them lay a small postcard — its edges worn, its ink faded. Across its surface, a single quote was written in flowing script:

“‘Safe Harbor’ is a state of mind… it’s the place — in reality or metaphor — to which one goes in times of trouble or worry. It can be a friendship, marriage, church, garden, beach, poem, prayer, or song.”
— Luanne Rice

Jeeny: “Do you think everyone has one?” she asked quietly. “A safe harbor?”

Jack: “Everyone thinks they do,” he said, eyes still on the fire. “Until the storm’s big enough to test it.”

Jeeny: “That’s a cynical way to look at it.”

Jack: “It’s a realistic way. The sea doesn’t care how poetic you feel about harbors.”

Jeeny: “But we’re not the sea, Jack. We’re human. We need somewhere to turn when it gets too dark inside our heads.”

Jack: “And what happens when that place betrays you?”

Jeeny: “Then you build another one.”

Host: The fire popped, a spark leaping into the air and dying before it could reach her face. She didn’t flinch — she only watched it fall, like something she understood too well.

Jack: “You make it sound easy.”

Jeeny: “It’s not. But neither is drowning.”

Host: Outside, the wind shifted. The waves crashed harder, closer, the sound filling the room with a reminder that safety was always temporary — even in metaphor.

Jack: “You know, Luanne Rice makes it sound beautiful — all these places you can hide in: a friend, a song, a prayer. But I think she missed something.”

Jeeny: “What?”

Jack: “The fact that all those harbors… they only work if you believe in them. And belief isn’t built. It’s borrowed — until someone breaks it.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the safe harbor isn’t a person or a place,” she said. “Maybe it’s faith itself.”

Jack: “Faith in what?”

Jeeny: “In return. In forgiveness. In the idea that life, no matter how cruel, still gives you somewhere to rest your soul.”

Host: The light from the fire caught in her eyes, and for a brief moment, Jack saw the reflection of the flames flicker there — twin storms calmed only by will.

Jack: “You’ve always been the optimist,” he said.

Jeeny: “No,” she corrected softly. “I’ve just learned that survival needs softness. Hope is armor too, Jack. It just doesn’t look like it.”

Jack: “Hope’s fragile.”

Jeeny: “So are we. And yet we still wake up.”

Host: The wind outside seemed to settle, its rage replaced by rhythm. The ocean’s pulse softened to a lull, as though the world itself had taken a breath.

Jeeny: “You know what my safe harbor used to be?”

Jack: “What?”

Jeeny: “My grandmother’s garden. She had these wild tulips that grew no matter how much the salt air tried to kill them. When my parents fought, I’d go there and sit between them, hiding behind the colors. I used to think if I was quiet enough, the flowers could protect me.”

Jack: “Did they?”

Jeeny: “Not really. But believing they could kept me alive.”

Host: He smiled faintly — the kind of smile that carried respect instead of amusement.

Jack: “I envy that,” he said. “You found comfort in things that couldn’t lie.”

Jeeny: “And you?”

Jack: “My safe harbor was a basketball court. At night. When the world went quiet enough that the sound of the ball was the only thing that made sense. I thought repetition could save me.”

Jeeny: “And did it?”

Jack: “For a while. Until I realized silence catches up with you — even under floodlights.”

Host: The fire had burned lower now, the logs collapsing inward, glowing red and gold at the center. The quiet between them was no longer heavy; it had turned contemplative — the calm that follows truth.

Jeeny: “You know,” she said softly, “Rice called it a state of mind. That means it doesn’t have to be physical. A harbor isn’t something you find — it’s something you become.”

Jack: “Become?”

Jeeny: “Yes. When you’ve lost everything, and you can still offer someone peace — you are the harbor.”

Jack: “That’s too much to ask of one person.”

Jeeny: “Then ask it of yourself.”

Host: Her words fell with a quiet certainty that burned deeper than the fire. He looked at her then — really looked — and saw not fragility, but resilience shaped into warmth.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what friendship really is,” he said after a long pause. “Two people taking turns being the harbor.”

Jeeny: “Exactly,” she said. “One keeps watch while the other rests. That’s how you survive the tides.”

Host: The flames flickered one last time before settling into embers. Outside, the moon broke through the clouds, silvering the waves. The storm had ended — or maybe it had simply moved inside, quieter now, manageable.

Jack: “You ever think about what happens when both people need the harbor at once?”

Jeeny: “Then you build one out of silence,” she said. “And you stay there, together, until the tide forgives you.”

Host: He nodded slowly. The air between them felt warmer, lighter. The fire had become nothing but a soft red glow — fragile, yes, but alive.

Host: And in that small cottage by the sea, the truth of Luanne Rice’s words lingered, soft as salt, strong as faith:

“‘Safe Harbor’ is a state of mind… it’s the place — in reality or metaphor — to which one goes in times of trouble or worry. It can be a friendship, marriage, church, garden, beach, poem, prayer, or song.”

Host: Because sometimes, the harbor isn’t out there.
It’s the person sitting across from you —
the one who listens,
who stays when the wind rises,
who holds space until the storm remembers it’s temporary.

Host: And sometimes, the harbor is simply this:
two souls sharing silence,
watching the embers glow,
while the world outside forgets how to rage.