July 12, 2019
I want to take a moment to unpack some of the more prevalent but less glamorous aspects of this experience that Stephen and I have been grappling with. While quitting jobs, selling our belongings, buying a boat and attempting to sail around the world sounds incredibly romantic and exciting (and it is), it has also been very trying, especially in these early weeks as we struggle to get our heads around managing this yacht. Florence is a much bigger and more complex boat than either of us have ever sailed before, and learning to sail her shorthanded in conditions that are more often than not wet and cold has been difficult. Additionally, being in a confined space 24/7, having zero privacy, and at the end of each day feeling a bit like you've failed more than you have succeeded all starts to take a toll. I’d be lying if I denied that the questions I ask myself most often these days are, why am I doing this? Is this the right decision? Should we be here? Has this been a huge mistake?
I’ve found you can speculate all you want about how you may feel about up and leaving your job and life as you know it, but until you actually do it, you can’t relate. I think my husband and I are both struggling to come to grips with having left our careers (that took up most of our time and formed a not insignificant part of our identities), leaving our home and our family and friends, all to pursue a goal that often seems pretty harebrained and ill-advised. The transition to not being employed and not being an “earner” and instead being a very large spender (and not on conventionally practical things like saving for a family but on things like new propellors and navigation instruments) seems sometimes not just questionable, but perhaps wasteful and irresponsible.
I certainly have doubts. And these doubts get magnified by challenging experiences. As tranquil and picturesque as the Scotland scenery was, the reality was hard work every day with little rest. I was cold, wet, tired, and frustrated most days, as sleep was intermittent and the list of concepts to master seemed to get longer and longer. Admittedly, a lot of these tasks don’t come easily to me. While I was pleasantly surprised to discover I was a bit of a natural at boat manoeuvering, I lack the physical strength to manhandle some of the winches and lines on the boat when brute force is required. Also, my English degree comes in a bit less handy than Stephen's engineering degree when it comes to things like boat maintenance and fixing broken shit. To be honest, learning all the 400 different types of spanners, bolts and power tools we have on board and the specific applications for each has never really been an interest of mine (call me girly if you want). I am learning them, however - it's just a frustrating process. It’s also been difficult as a women adjusting to life on a boat with two dudes, zero privacy, and no time for frivolities like outfits, make up, or hairbrushes - you just generally have to get used to being generally grubby, which is fine, but I will admit it's hard to feel at your most confident when you are pretty sure you look like hell 99% of the time.
I have been missing London, missing my friends and family, missing a bed that doesn’t roll all over the place, and missing a sense of purpose as I struggle to come to grips with this new lifestyle. It has demanded some pretty regular soul searching, and I've yet to reach any conclusions. On day 3 of our Biscay crossing, I hit a bit of a breaking point. While I wasn't ready to throw in the towel just yet, I was frustrated to the point of tears, wondering why I was doing this and simultaneously feeling like I was letting Stephen down. For his sake if nothing else, I wanted to be loving every minute of this adventure and not secretly resenting him for dragging me along, when I could be back home in London with my friends and colleagues and my creature comforts.
But I also know that these feelings of doubt and discomfort create important opportunities for self-examination. I do not yet know why I am here doing this, or what I will ultimately get out of it. I need to remind myself that at this stage of the process, it's far too early to know or to even predict. I will allow myself to feel out of my depth and frustrated and sometimes completely lost - it’s part of letting go, I think. I need to create space to discover a side of myself that is not defined by material success or external validation. As much as I loved New York and London, I felt very limited and bogged down by those standards of success.
So here I am, alone on night watch in the middle of the Bay of Biscay, hundreds of miles from land, looking at the stars, asking questions of the world and of myself. At this stage, I may be as far from finding answers as I am from land, but at least I am asking…
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