Reality blows

The wind came to my rescue. Howling down the shrouds in through my hatch, across my day worn face, over my clenched fists and turbulent thoughts. I hear you wind!

Dinner is just now over. It is 10:30pm.
I am tired. I am losing my patience. I am making up scenarios in my head about rude responses I would have to annoying requests I'm hearing for the 21st or 49th time on the 21st day. My patience in wearing thin and I know it is time to regroup. Be quiet and inward. (Or scream and yell and beat the shit out of pillows- but I am surrounded by those who may take this as a sign of instability or mutiny, so this is not an option)

The wind taught me about quiet this morning. (how quickly I forget) I woke at 6:45am, rolled out of bed over bottles of tonic and rotting papayas, bruised guavas, yellowing limes in bins on the cabin sole. I grabbed a grapefruit and orange to add to the morning fruit plate.
But my heart wasn't in it. I wanted it to be, I did. It was another morning on a boat, another morning in Cuba (Cuba!), another morning cooking and sailing and maybe even swimming. But I was hitting the three week wall. Three weeks of serving and cooking and cleaning and being on deck on endlessly hot afternoons. Three weeks of smiling and asking time after time, "Can I get you anything?" but never having anyone ask me the same. Three weeks of long days on someone else's schedule. With six weeks to go.
Sure, I still have moments of "This is my job? Fuck yeah!" but they come with less regularity and I wonder how to recapture that excitement between cleaning guest vomit off the formica and pouring the 10th rum and tonic (with lime) of the evening (not for myself). How to recognize how lucky I am to have this job when I work 16+ hour days and I am never more than a few meters from the five other people on this floating castle, the moat being the entire Caribbean Sea. How to convince myself that the next month (another month!) of playing cook/stew/deckie is manageable and will be good for my soul and emotional well being when all I want in this challenging moment is have the other version of my life back (even though in that version, feet on land, hands in the dirt, I dream and talk of the sea. I know this.)
So this morning I poured myself a cup of tea after setting out fruit and yogurt, banana bread and coffee for them. I sat on the aft deck looking out over Cayo Breton. The water was glassy, clouds reflecting in perfect symmetry. Not a whisper of air stirred up waves. The silence was thick, pierced now and then by a bird trilling or fish jumping. I could feel the peace and light of the rising sun enrobing me.
The wind was holding its breath, allowing me to breathe.
My darkness lifted. This is why I do this! This is why I'm here. For moments like these! I thought. The silence carried me through the morning and afternoon.

This evening the wind picked up as I eased myself into the water. Waves toppled onto my face, nose sunburnt and freckled and hot. I could feel the water supporting me, washing away bits and pieces of that perceived stress. Until I could sense the need for cocktails to be made and served, towels to be folded, appetizers to be whipped up. Out of the water, onto the job.
The wind shrieked louder and louder over dinner, competing with raucous conversation and the scraping of forks on china. Bottles of wine and rum nary to be left on canting table tops as we bobbed and rolled were drained. Demands were made, minds were changed, to all I consented with a smile (sometimes forced).
My mind and mouth twist and turn. I breathe in and attempt to let go of the little perceived jabs I feel deflating my confidence.
These are the constantly recurring lessons of this lifetime: Let go of control, let go of ego, don't take anything personally. I am here to resolve these patterns. I know this but damn it is still hard!

That is when the wind and the moon called me out. Up to the bow I go, hoodie donned and pants considered. Under the full moon, chanting into the screaming wind, I start to laugh and cry. I throw my worries to the wind. I let him take them from me to shake them off of his airy fingers crests and troughs away, feeding the fish with the flakes of my mental dramas.

I am thankful for all that I have, all that is learned, all that this thing called nature teaches me every day. I am thankful for this job, even when I am tired and frustrated and lonely and learning lessons that historically have been hard for me to learn on this rocking island of fiberglass. But I am here, I am learning, I just am.

And the wind the waves the sun and moon (and my soul (myself)) are my favorite teachers.

If only they could help me with the dishes.