Humility
Yes, I'm a little bit scared.
I get a little cranky, a little irritable with the fear. But I also get giddy and the butterflies race in between my heart and lungs.
A certain light shines in my eyes that only comes with the specific mix of anxiety and excitement that a 1500 nautical mile passage can incite.
So yes, I'm a little scared. Who wouldn't be? You would be stupid not to be. Sometimes we forget that everything can change in a minute: the wind, the waves, the life you have.
It is all that more apparent on the sea what we tend to take for granted on land. That is why I am rocking to sleep on a boat this night, hoping to fill up on sleep and dreams before a week or more of sleep snatched in three hour increments. Of a bed raked at 45 degrees forcing me to starfish on the salty sheets or become entangled in blankets and leecloths. Of granola bars for breakfast and lunch (if I can hold it down) and perhaps a bite of bland noodles under brilliant stars. Of night watches watching the helm watching the charts watching the silent moon pass overhead above the cacophony of waves against hull.
When I am on land I take for granted the security I (usually) feel in the streets, in a car, with family, with friends.
On the sea we are alert, the nerves alive. Yet simultaneously more relaxed, more in tune. Neptune is a fickle one. He can whip up whales and dolphins or waves and then doldrums. I learn to appreciate the appreciation of each moment. I feel and emote to the passing breeze.
This can all change.
Yes, this is why I am a little bit scared. And a little bit giddy.
And full of love for what I leave on land. Yet most of all looking forward to the insights that only the ocean can bring.
I get a little cranky, a little irritable with the fear. But I also get giddy and the butterflies race in between my heart and lungs.
A certain light shines in my eyes that only comes with the specific mix of anxiety and excitement that a 1500 nautical mile passage can incite.
So yes, I'm a little scared. Who wouldn't be? You would be stupid not to be. Sometimes we forget that everything can change in a minute: the wind, the waves, the life you have.
It is all that more apparent on the sea what we tend to take for granted on land. That is why I am rocking to sleep on a boat this night, hoping to fill up on sleep and dreams before a week or more of sleep snatched in three hour increments. Of a bed raked at 45 degrees forcing me to starfish on the salty sheets or become entangled in blankets and leecloths. Of granola bars for breakfast and lunch (if I can hold it down) and perhaps a bite of bland noodles under brilliant stars. Of night watches watching the helm watching the charts watching the silent moon pass overhead above the cacophony of waves against hull.
When I am on land I take for granted the security I (usually) feel in the streets, in a car, with family, with friends.
On the sea we are alert, the nerves alive. Yet simultaneously more relaxed, more in tune. Neptune is a fickle one. He can whip up whales and dolphins or waves and then doldrums. I learn to appreciate the appreciation of each moment. I feel and emote to the passing breeze.
This can all change.
Yes, this is why I am a little bit scared. And a little bit giddy.
And full of love for what I leave on land. Yet most of all looking forward to the insights that only the ocean can bring.
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