Fears

I’m afraid of many things. Paperwork scares me, especially when combined with bureaucracy where there’s a need to clear into another country on my boat with my dog and all my worldly possessions aboard. I’m afraid of new things, like a different sort of anchor and rode I’ve never used, or rod rigging where it’s difficult to see the microscopic weaknesses or fractures. Old equipment. New equipment. Kraken. Equipment I’m mostly familiar with but just slightly different and in a new context. Drift nets and long lines marked only with old clear soda bottles floating into my path and wrapping around my propeller shaft. I’ve always feared the idea of falling overboard miles from shore and watching my boat sail away without me, but now there’s Buffy on deck, still dry but tensing herself, gathering the nerve to jump and share my fate, and me telling her—angrily so she’ll listen—“STAY!”

Tomorrow, Friday January 7th—after one cross-country journey to NC with the intention of sailing the east coast and one return journey to San Diego to head into Mexico instead (and two delays since Thanksgiving due in some part to Hamletesque indecision and tentativeness), I’m finally sailing south for Mexico on a boat that’s five feet shorter and five tons lighter than my last—a sprightly racer rather than a heavy, steady cruiser. With a small fuel tank and a need to resume work in ten days I fear too little wind. With sails cut mostly for racing and only one reef point in the mainsail I fear too much wind. And though for most of my life I’ve dreamed of sailing away and living aboard full-time, I worry about what I’ll pursue next if I don’t find enough happiness there, on my boat, in Mexico, this time around.

Honestly, I don’t even really know what deep, long-term, fulfilling and satisfying happiness looks like for me. I feel happy whenever I look at my boys and consider the lives they’re pursuing now as independent adults, and they’ve brought me so much joy for the past twenty years and I can’t wait to see what they do next. I’ve felt happy recently on a nice first date where the connection was intense and beautiful but short-lived as I needed to leave the frozen north and get back to the warmth of Southern California to continue preparing my boat to head to places even warmer. I’ve been blissfully happy in love as recently as just a few months ago. At times I’ve been ambivalent about love. And yeah… like everyone else I’ve also been devastated by love. But happiness needs to come from myself, and I think maybe that’s what I’m seeking—and what I’ve been seeking for so long.

This sailing thing—this (mostly) solo travel has made me happy in the past, but is not something that comes easily. Like many people I’d often rather just sit in bed looking at my phone reading reddit. But whether excited or afraid—sometimes terrified—I’ve always had the capability to take both small and giant leaps and force myself into uncomfortable situations. It’s how I’ve learned my whole life—from ripping apart a bike and hoping I’ll be able to put it back together, to jumping into marriage and learning as I go.

Sometimes it feels like I’ve tied a bungie to my feet and I’m sitting on the railing of a high bridge; there’s an element of safety (several layers of safety), but there’s also a requirement that I make myself uncomfortable—shock my system into thinking differently or overcoming my fears. That moment of pushing off can be terrifying. It’s been nice having a home base these last few years, both in San Diego and in Arlington, VA while I got back to work and rebuilt my finances. It’s nice watching my favorite shows or waiting for the next season of a favorite show. But I’ve never felt more satisfied with myself than when I’ve taken on and succeeded at a significant challenge. The fear and overcoming it… that’s the whole ballgame.

I’m not afraid of trying. I’m not afraid of failing. I’ve heard someone say that courage isn’t the absence of fear; courage is the ability to overcome one’s fears. In that case—amongst all these admissions of fears and inadequacies and varying amounts of self-deprecation (depending on which version of this I publish), I think it’s okay if I appear a bit cocky and say, yeah, I’m courageous as fuck. Ultimately, my fears mean very little. I will be fine. I’ll be tethered to my boat whenever I’m offshore and I will make it virtually impossible to fall overboard. I will learn how to safely and efficiently operate all the new equipment at an expert level and reach a level of comfort with this boat. And on this first trip from San Diego to Cabo Buffy and I will have a crew member available to stand watch and help sail the boat.

But once that crew member heads to the airport at San Jose del Cabo and returns to work, himself, it will be just Buffy and me—journeying, trolling a fishing line hoping for a dorado or a yellowtail or mackerel, sitting at anchor, polishing stainless steel, putting things in their rightful place, going for swims instead of taking showers, and yeah… for eight hours each workday writing code on my laptop and carrying out the promises I’ve made to my company and our clients so I can live this life while also helping to put my boys through college.

Ultimately, I think I’ll be happy with this simple life. And it wouldn’t hurt if there were someone to share it with. Someone to occasionally take care of me. To swap endorphins and turn on the firehose of oxytocin that comes from staring nose-to-nose into gorgeous eyes on a regular basis. Buffy is great, and provides more platonic love than I could ever have hoped for, but rarely does she say to me, “Stay.” So we go. We leap. We seek.

• Just Words