Ocean reflections
Living out at sea is unlike anything I have ever experienced. It is entirely different than life on land: your space, your pace, your attitude, your way of spending your day, and your ability to go with the flow. If something comes up, or you find a better path or meet another boat you wanna anchor around with (look at that - my first sea joke!), your plans change, and you adapt. You must adapt; that is really the key. There is no rush. The only rush is to make sure you sail before a storm, provision on the day when the mail boat arrives with (questionably) fresh goods, and make sure you get from point A to point B before sundown so you can see where the fuck you are and anchor far enough away from land or another boat. I have said this time and time again (and will keep repeating for my own reminder), you must become one with the elements out here. Respect this ocean queen, honor her, listen to her, and take your time with her (a must with any woman, actually). She is here to help and guide you through and, most importantly, be a mirror to remind you that you are (wait for it) in control of your own destiny. You are the captain of your own ship (ohhh, that was a good one, come on)—no room for comparisons or jealousy or excuses out here. Not to mention, you are constantly being reminded of how ridiculously meaningless your shite is compared to everything else around you (always a good to remember).
There is no pretense out here at sea. No bullshit or drama to be had (other than your own, of course). And, there is only room for one dramatic bitch, and that is the ocean. She is the ruler of everything. And, if you don't listen to her or follow and adapt swiftly to her ever shifts in weather - you will tearfully struggle (I speak from experience, obviously). However, if you can get over yourself quickly and surrender to her ever-changing ways, you will be able to learn her many lessons, let go of (some) fears, and get closer to freeing the repetitive shackles that are holding you back in life. In many ways, this surrendering, this relinquishing to the idea that we have some sort of control over things, is just the lesson I need to be reminded of (time and time again, I know). But, whatever, that is what life is meant to do, right? Put this shit in front of you until you can (finally) see it, and then (hopefully at some point) let go of it. The Queen is endlessly chipping away at it, tirelessly challenging and inescapable, but also, at the end of the day, simply magnificent, which makes up for all the other stuff almost instantaneously.
I have also learned an essential, vital tool to live by whist at sea- you must become a wanderer, a seeker, a gypsy, a vagabond. Almost everyone that lives at sea is all that and a bag of chips. They go with the waves, the flow. They make this life work for them because they love it out here. They come from all walks of life, socioeconomic backgrounds, races, genders, and classes. Some have vast experience, and some, most I would say out here now, have (like us) none. Like this is their first time sailing adventure, first time owning a boat and have no previous nautical experience (like us!). Which validates we are not the only dumb asses out here (this comforts me to no end, I must say). Not everyone is a vagabond out here, of course. You got those crazy gorgeous superyachts floating about with all the bells and whistles and toys and stabilizers (so you don’t get seasick!). Those fancy folks are just LIVING it up without a care in the ocean world. Everything is done for them. This is not our experience. Funny, I wouldn’t trade this experience for that one either (well, maybe for just a week). There is something invaluable about learning this and doing these things yourself. A lesson I (unfortunately) learned later in life. You see, from a very young age, I have been in situations where other people did things for me. I grew up in a household where we always had housekeepers cleaning the house, private chefs who feed us, gardeners who manicured the lawns, bodyguards who protected us, handymen who fixed things broke, and nannies who raise me. Look, I grew up in LA, in the glitz and glam of all the bullshit and all the kids from celebrities and dating the celebrities and rolled on the wealthy westside of LA where I attended a private school. For years, I was stifled from my privileged white girl ass, trapped in the bubble of it and guilt-ridden for having it. I did what I could to disassociate with it I guess, and became depressed from this deep void within in my youth (as many young people do). I was lost in a constant search of finding others to get me out of my own loneliness and disconnection from life. I was always seemingly seeking out others to fill the void instead of stepping into (and seeing) all the gifts I had to share. I stifled my own (self) down. Swept it under the rug, didn’t allow myself to blossom. I was too insecure (and impatient) to find my own voice and confidently step into myself. I admire those that do when they are young. When they bang the doors down with that unapologetic youthful spirit. I was never that way.
When I went to college for a brief time, and I moved into my dorm room where I had 2 roommates, both from wildly different backgrounds as myself, it was the first time I really had first-hand experience with how spoiled I had been. It was that moment that seemed to change everything. When I lived in that dorm room, I realized that I never learned how to make my own damn bed and do my own fucking laundry. I know most young adults have this problem too (as mothers do too much for their kids!), but still, I was embarrassed I didn’t know how to do a simple thing like that. At any rate, I quickly learned how to do laundry and have been successfully (for the most part) doing it ever since. Currently, I run my own private laundromat on this boat. But I am not here to talk about laundry. Though I must admit, I actually love doing it. There is something so satisfying about it. Something that tends to my OCD like no other. You wash the dirty to make it clean. You cleanse your shit. Like a baptism, if you will, each time you do the wash. And then, when it comes out of the dryer (or dries in the sun as we do here), and you are folding everyone's clean clothes, neatly putting them back into their prospective places, you, I, feel refreshed, accomplished. Now, don’t get me wrong, there are several house chores I would rather not do but when I eventually get to doing them - dusting the crevices or cleaning the toilet, or vacuuming the floor, and on and on - ahhhhh there ain’t nothing like it. And, in the end, comes with a proud satisfying sparkle. Until, of course, two seconds later, my kids dirty it up again.
But, as I said, I am not here to talk about cleaning. I am here to talk about the ocean, the responsibilities that come with captaining this ship, and how learning to sail is in the same line as learning to do my damn laundry. At least the way I am looking at it. SO, there I was, pulling up anchor - which is quite literally what it sounds like - you pull up your anchor when you are leaving to sail to your next destination - it is much much trickier than it may sound. One person has to be at the bow (front of the boat) looking to see where the windless anchor (100-foot chain) is laid out anchored on the ocean floor (that’s what it’s called, a windless anchor), and the other person has to be at the helm (the captains station) to drive and steady the boat in the direction of the wind. Making sure to not drift or drive over the anchor or, really more to the point, lose control of the boat with the current pulling you in a different direction than where you want to go. The one in the front is responsible for clearly communicating (as best they can with hand movements and tons of yelling) where the chain is at all time so the person at the helm can steer the boat in the direction they are being led (by the hand movements and yells). They are both super stressful positions to be responsible for in these learning months. And, you have to do both tasks alone. Meaning one can not leave one post to help the other. At least on our boat (super yachts I’m sure can). Not to mention, if you are doing this in rough seas or high winds, it is even more stressful as chains move quicker, and it’s much harder to communicate precision. It’s a “put your big girl panties on” moment for sure. And, in those moments, you are the only one who you can call upon, no one to do this for you, no one but yourself.
Now, historically speaking, I have been known to panic in moments like these, freak out a bit, shed a tear perhaps - ain’t no room for that bullshit when pulling anchor. You breathe, buck up, ground down, and (try your hardest) to calmly solve the problems that arise and quickly think the problems through before you make your move. And then, once you do, when you see the freed anchor rising from the bottom of the sea, you can breathe a sigh of relief that it’s over. Your anchor is safely up, and you can get on your way - grateful to be safe and a little bit wiser and stronger because of having that experience. Yes, you could just hire a caption or crew to do this job, just like you could hire a gardener to tend to your garden or a housekeeper to clean your house (and if you are physically unable or too busy, you have no choice but to of course). However, if you can choose not to do it, you will miss out on those important magical moments that can only come to you when you are the one physically doing the thing. You grow, get all the wiser, and, most importantly, have the experience that only could be learned by having done it yourself. This way of living has been something I had been seeking out all my life —a sense of genuine connection, authenticity, independence, strength, and courage. Never thought I would feel this way while I was living at sea, but it's true. I have always been in search of these things on land. Where I lived, my relationships, partnerships, work, and how I creatively express myself. And this, this sea life I am in, might just be what I have been searching for all along. Now, if only I could get my damn sea legs already. Cause these bruised bitches just aren't letting up.
But then, at the end of the day, after you drop the anchor (don’t get me started on that one), the sunsets out here, the golden hour is just breathtaking. Ending your day gazing out at the setting sun is such a phenomenal way to end your day. Full stop. And, being able to take a moment of pause to reflect on your life, where you came from and how you got to the present - it’s like a phonebook. Filled to the brim with all these snap shots in the mind that may or may not have happened. Memories of the past, some so strong you could smell them and others not at all. Every memory past gone by in a flash. A blip. Was it all just a dream.? Have I really live all these 45 years on this earth? Oh the places I thought I would go or become when I was young. All the missed opportunities I didn’t do because of unnecessary fears. Oh the places I wanted to go, but haven’t (yet). What does this all even mean? Perhaps I wasn’t ready. I am a late bloomer it seems. I needed to age like a fine wine to dig deep into the bowels of myself (terrible image but it feels right). I was drowning by insecurities within myself that hindered into blossoming into the woman screaming under the surface. I was too wrapped up in my own malarky for years. But now, now this wide blue ocean is calling to me (yelling at me actually) to get over myself and go far beyond my wildest dreams could dream. So, fasten your seatbelts. It’s going to be a bumpy night.
