This is an excerpt from a journal right when I moved from Seattle back home. Like what you see, get to know me!
This topic has come up multiple times in the past month. Usually after we’ve had a couple of drinks at Sea Fresh while munching on sushi and fries. Wild combo. I know.
“Do it. Just do it,” he said with a mouth full of albacore. “You won’t regret it.”
It respectively being not only to buy, but to live on a boat.
“I don’t know,” I say.
I don’t know seems to be the only response I can give lately.
Sometimes my heart quickens at the idea–both out of excitement and anxiety.
“Megs, just imagine it. You walk down the dock. Open up the cabin. Light a few candles. Kick back. Write the night away under the stars. That’s your home.”
“When you put it that way.”
“Then wake up to gently rocking in the wind…”
He trails on and on… The seagulls, the seals, the salty air, the splashing of bait, the fog horns, the marine layers, the sunsets.
Both sessions of mine. Banter and fisherman.
While it is easy for me to romanticize everything he says, I have this relentless realist in me.
If it wasn’t for her I’d already be packed up, yo-ho-ing my way down the dock and cracking champagne over the bow. Yep. Damn the realist.
“I know nothing about boats,” I say.
“You don’t need to,” he says.
“I find that hard to believe. The only thing I know about sail boats is don’t drill holes in the bottom.”
He takes a long slurp of his rum and coke. The way he always does. Loudly with squinting eyes looking down before looking back at me.
“I’m telling you the truth. It’s simple. All you have to do is empty the holding tank when it gets filled and clean the bottom scum every few months.”
Right. That’s all…
“But what if the toilet breaks?” My eyes avoid his.
It was a weak attempt. But it was an attempt.
“Well, you fix it?” He smirks. I hate that smirk, just as much as he hates mine.
“I’m telling you. I think you will love it. You need to have something that is all yours. Something you take care of, something that you can call your own.”
It’s true. He’s right. This sailboat somehow feels like a gateway to somewhere I am being called to be. A place completely unknown. A wild place.
The past year has been been defined by both limitations and freedoms. I have felt both stagnant and infinite. It’s this caged bird mentality that has pushed me to my limit.
It’s been a great year, but I have hardly taken the time to reflect on it until this sailboat idea was presented. This sailboat is challenging me to think about my life.
It’s undeniable that the place where I was planted and thrived is now all together too small for me to keep growing in. I am being beckoned onward to something greater, yet even still, I feel reluctant to be replanted.
I have always made it a point not let fear rule my decisions. My dad always said, “You’re not nervous, you’re excited!” I think he was trying to say, “Don’t be scared.” I try not to be scared about things. Especially new things.
But there is still this lingering fear. I once was told, that fear ti often just pretending to be logic.
“Megs, you know what it really comes down to?” he says while looking at his empty glass of ice. “Not whether you can do it or not, but what in hell is holding you back from doing what makes you happy?”
Water makes me happy, why am I not living on it?
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