June 14, 2019
Perhaps there is some truth in the saying it's always darkest before the dawn. Without dramatising the situation, I will say that with low moments and with challenges (some that make you seriously question yourself and what you're doing) comes an opportunity for reflection and self-examination. After 3 days of a tough Biscay crossing involving rough seas, rain, little sleep, wind holes, a big fuel mishap, an autopilot issue, and a general sense of frustration and regret, last night I had a well-timed solo night watch, from midnight until 3 AM. Though tired and more than a little cranky, I really relished the alone time. Rather than sit at the nav station below deck in the warm for my watch, stewing in self pity and resenting my husband for taking me on this hair-brained adventure, I took advantage of the fresh air and comforting solitude on deck. The sky was clear and there was a brilliant moon casting a wide beam of light across the rippling sea. It was the first night where I'd really taken the time to appreciate a sky full of stars. I was feeling heavy and pensive.
My reflections over the next 3 hours waffled between self-flagellation and self-pity. On one hand, I was telling myself I needed to improve my attitude and smile through the tough times, even if I was feeling low and hating my life, because I am tough and capable and I owe it to Stephen to think less about myself and to put him first. On the other hand, I wanted to retrench into my misery, resolving to just become stubbornly resigned to not enjoy the experience and to resent it and my husband for dragging me into it. I would whine less, but seethe more. That seemed like a healthy solution...
As my thoughts whipped back and forth, I looked at the stars and the horizon hoping for some direction. I started to realise part of what I might be struggling with. I have been so laser-focused on accomplishing set objectives - mastering the different skills we are being taught, getting the boat across Biscay to Lisbon, and then straight into the Med, that I'm losing sight of why we are doing this in the first place. I revisited our mission statement that Stephen and I wrote before embarking on this journey that we copied onto a large poster and hung on the back of our front door as daily motivation. Objective # 1: To strengthen our marriage. While Stephen and I have undoubtedly grown together on this trip, in the more difficult times it's easy to loose sight of that. To use a somewhat trite expression, I'd ceased to see the forest for the trees. I was letting myself get bogged down by individual challenges and stresses to the exclusion of appreciating just why it is we are out here and what ultimately we are trying to accomplish. I spent the rest of my watch sat at the bow in silence. I am realising I need to allow myself more time to reflect on this trip, without constantly stressing about the objectives - to think not only about the How, but about the Why. By the end of my watch, I felt like I'd recovered a modicum of peace, if not a thoroughly refreshed attitude. Maybe I need to give this experience more time and allow myself to grow and change with the process, rather than expecting to have all the answers now. Hozza came on deck to relieve me at 3 AM, and though I was dead tired, we spent the next 30 minutes observing the stars together and identifying different constellations. He also gave me a mini lesson in celestial navigation using only our hands. Apparently, if you can see the horizon and the North Star, you can use your hands to determine roughly what latitude you are at. We determined one of my fingers is about equivalent to 2 degrees of latitude. Who knew? I went to bed feeling calmer than I had since this passage began.
I woke up this morning an hour early for my watch, feeling like I needed to talk to Stephen. I found him on deck, looking adorable with this child-like smile on his face. We sat next to each other in silence as we watched a beautiful sunrise over the horizon and an almost glassy calm sea. So perhaps Biscay does have a softer side... We had a heart to heart about out frustrations and agreed to always be honest with each other. We knew these first weeks were going to be hard, and it was OK to struggle. We reaffirmed our commitment first and foremost to our relationship. The boat could sink tomorrow, and we would still have each other. We agreed that once we got across Biscay and to Gibraltar, we should slow down and allow ourselves time to process and enjoy this experience.
Almost as if they heard us talking, a group of extremely energetic dolphins surfaced at our bow. They danced and played with us for the better part of an hour, chatting away and jumping clear out of the water, showing us their beautiful white-streaked sides and looking right at us, as if to say, "Hang in there - it will be worth it." And there it was - another beautifully concise and poignant lesson from the sea about this boat life we are trying to live: sometimes it's wrestling with thick, wet lines in the rain for hours with a sail that won't cooperate in a flukey wind, and sometimes it's watching dolphins frolic at your bow at sunrise.
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