adrift

Almost six months since I last posted here. I feel guilty for abandoning this blog, my writing, my boat. I have been adrift, as usual, trying to find my way, trying to cut a path toward peace and stability, but also toward love and adventure. The world is not enough. I want so much more. 

Spring and summer had ups and downs. Filled with music (among the highlights, David Gilmour, Ween, Dead & Co., a Phish run over my birthday weekend, Rebelution, The Green, and a crazy sparkly spinning four days camping at Lockn’ Festival). Filled with love and with tears as the surfer and I navigated our first year together. Filled with change. 

Just over three weeks ago we, (the surfer, pup-dog, and the cats), moved off of Ambrosia and into a small house ashore. My attempt to purchase a home was shot down due to the student loan disaster that haunts me. But we rented a little (less than 800-square-foot) house around the corner from where I rented prior to buying Ambrosia. It’s too small, too expensive, and has only one closet for storage in the whole house, but for the time being it’s ours. The move has been very, very hard on me. Between saying goodbye to Ambrosia, the strain big changes put on a relationship, and the financial pressures, I sometimes just want to get in my car and drive until I get to Cali. But I’m trying to hang in there, be strong, be patient, believe in myself, my future, the surfer, and love.

I haven’t seen Ambrosia in two weeks. She was in the water when I left her but has since been hauled and blocked for storage on land until she sells. She’s listed on craigslist in Annapolis and Washington, DC, as well as SailboatListings.com. The  asking price is what she surveyed for when I bought her four years ago. I may not get that much, but it is a fair number considering the upgrades I made and the ones she would still benefit from. I am hoping someone will buy her soon, love her as I did and more, restore her to her former glory, sail her far and wide, and give her plenty of adventures. 

I’ve spilled a bucket of tears for her in the past month. I stood alone with her in the dark at the dock, having moved almost everything off of her, and cried. I told her I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t sail her away, didn’t give her all that she needed. So sorry that I failed her. I don’t enjoy sailing but I loved that boat. She was the only home I’ve ever owned, kept a roof over my head when I would have been homeless, kept me safe, kept me going when all hope was lost. She saved my life in so many ways. And I failed her. Now she sits on the hard with all those other boats and dreams people have abandoned. And she must be so sad and lonely. 

this is not a sailing blog

Apologies for the long gap between posts. I don't have any good excuses; sometimes life just gets in the way. 

A couple months ago I was reflecting on my dissatisfaction with work and financial aspects of my life. I decided to try writing down the things I enjoy and the things I am good at. Unfortunately, the overlap between those lists is slim. Pretty much writing and cooking. There are other things I'm good at, but I don't enjoy like arguing and lawyering. There are plenty of things I enjoy, but am not very good at like singing and snorkeling.  I don't know that I'll be able to limit my work sphere to writing and cooking any time soon, at least not if I want to put food on the table, but I think I do need to place greater focus on finding a path that may eventually lead me there.

I also started writing down the things I don't enjoy and the things I'm not good at. At the top of both lists: sailing. I don't know if I don't enjoy sailing because I'm not good at it, or whether I'm not good at it because I don't enjoy it. Probably a mixture of both. But it was a relief to let myself acknowledge that reality and stop forcing myself to do it just because everyone expects me to. I love being out on the water. I enjoyed heading out fishing before dawn, the water glassy, hardly another boat to be seen. I enjoyed the days in Miami when I just threw lines and drank rum runners, took sun on deck, and snorkeled a bit, with no responsibility for navigating or taking the helm. But far and away most of my pleasant boating memories are from power boating. I can't say I have ever enjoyed sailing; sailing is something I suffer through to get from point A to point B or because I feel pressured to learn and try. 

I understand that many people are passionate about sailing and can't imagine life without it. For me, taking the boat out is about the last way I want to spend my sparse, precious free time. Particularly because I live aboard and have all the stuff of life strewn about, (cue the sailors looking down their noses at me for still owning more than two pairs of shoes). Getting the boat ready to take out involves hours of preparation and then hours getting things settled upon return. Taking the boat out means a day of stress; I can't relax, can't enjoy some cocktails, have to be on constant guard not to run aground, not to tangle up in crab pots, not to draw the attention of the Coast Guard or DNR, having to make sure guests know where flares and fire extinguishers reside, and making sure there are PFDs to go around. All of that is "work" in my book; it is not play, or fun, or relaxation. If other people enjoy it, that's all well and good; I wish them fair winds and following seas. I enjoy running but I don't expect everyone else to think it's the cat's meow or somehow "better" than anyone else's chosen hobbies.

The boat is my home, the only home I have ever owned. I do love her and she has saved my life in many ways. I plan to stick with living aboard for a while more to save money and, with hope, save up for a down payment on a house. From the outset this blog has been about how the world is not enough. It's a blog about a girl rebuilding her life, the challenges of pets, being broke, the ups and down of love and loss, and now and then it's about making boat living work. I hope the story here continues long after Ambrosia has found a new captain to sail her away to bluer seas. But this has never been a sailing blog.

winterizing

New Year's Eve the surfer took me to DC to see a funk band from Brooklyn, the Pimps of Joytime. I love dancing with the surfer and the music was fun and groovy. Definitely my first NYE being kissed at midnight by someone I love. We danced the night away and then spent New Year's Day walking all over DC and through the National Zoo. 

Our first date was five months ago today. It's definitely a challenge nurturing a relationship in the small confines of a boat, where the only way to "take a break" when there is a disagreement is to take a walk. Not every day is a cakewalk for us, but the good outweighs the challenges and I wouldn't want to be with someone who always agreed with me or expected me to always agree with him.  Ups and downs, this one has my heart and I hope I have his.

After an unseasonably warm December, winter arrived. Initially I'd only seen one brief bit of snow, which didn't stick, but we've had some cold nights/mornings, even down into the high teens. And typical winter aboard... we've had north winds blow water down the Bay, leaving us a couple feet below the dock. Pup dog doesn't like it when the cabin top is level with the finger pier. Those are the days that I'm in the galley and the port light looks out under the pier.

Just a few days later we were high above the dock, but it's just about as difficult to board (other than being able to at least move the boat closer to the pier since we aren't stuck in the mud). I would have had a very difficult time getting pup on and off the boat during the high tide, especially as the winds were howling (we were under a gale warning). So thankful to have the surfer here with us; where I would struggle to lift the dog, he can lift the pup with relative ease and doesn't have my fear of falling.

Pup and I both seem to have a fear of falling. I have to keep telling her she's brave, that she has to just "puppy up" and deal with it to get on and off the boat, get down stairs. I don't expect her to be fearless, I'm certainly not. The surfer seems to think I'm silly and scared of everything and I admit, the list of things I'm not afraid of might be shorter than the list of things that terrify me. But being brave is not being fearless; being brave is being scared as hell and doing something anyway. I'd rather be brave than fearless and it's probably my fears that have kept my recklessness in check so that I'm still alive so much longer than I ever would have expected. I just have to remind myself not to give up when things are hard, or sad, or frustrating. I have to keep reminding myself that I'm braver than I know and I can get through anything.

Here are some photos of the very high tide we had in early January.

The water didn't overflow the docks but was ankle deep in portions of the parking garage.

Water was rushing into the parking garage. We moved our cars to the back wall. Luckily it never rose too much or made it all the way to the back of the garage or my storage locker would have been swamped.

Lots of snow on deck after the late January blizzard.

One Saturday, the surfer and I played disc golf out on the Eastern Shore and pup got to spend most of the time off-leash wandering the wooded course. At some point she found something especially interesting, not sure if it was deer poop or a dead animal. Then at a party that evening she and another Lab decided to tear open several bags of garbage and have a party. I thought for sure her being sick the next day was related to one of those excursions, but it seems it was just a boring old urinary tract infection. Nonetheless, we were worried because she was shivering, listless, drinking copious amounts of water, and peeing excessively. She had to take an urgent trip to the vet that Monday and was on antibiotics for a few weeks. Naturally, her need for urgent medical attention coincided with me having less than $10 to spare after setting aside just enough cash for my commute to work for the week. Luckily, the vet let me float the bill until I got paid the next Tuesday. Even when I knock myself out to get hours at work, nothing seems to make a dent as the bills just keep rolling in. Alas, I didn't hit the Powerball numbers. But the surfer took good care of pup dog while I was gone long days to work so that gave me some peace of mind that she wasn't sick and alone. 

With more bitter cold on the horizon I couldn't take the risk of damage to the engine so I had the mechanic winterize the Perkins diesel. It means staying in the slip until Spring, but odds were that would happen anyway, and the peace of mind that I won't have a cracked engine block is well worth the $75 bill from the mechanic. Unfortunately, I still have to keep a 60 watt bulb going in the engine room (and sometimes run a heater in there as well) to keep the bilge pump from freezing up in the cold. 

The blizzard that came through the third weekend in January dumped two feet of snow over most of the Annapolis area. I made the tough decision to leave the boat, board the cats at the vet, and hunker down with the surfer and pup dog at the surfer's parents' house. We spent a few days snowed in, during which I fretted over the fate of the boat, but gratefully dockmates kept an eye on her lines and shoved some snow off when the weight of it, combined with the strong winds, had her listing to port. The entire cockpit was filled with snow upon our return, but the only damage was the loss of a fender--it must have become trapped between the pier and the boat and the line snapped (the line is still securely tied to the lifeline). A week later I noticed a fender floating into the adjacent slip and we grabbed the net to fish it out. Lo and behold--it was the very fender we had lost in the storm, come back home on the tide.

So... I quit school. I lost all respect for the massage therapy program at Anne Arundel Community College after seeing how they handled the creeper in our class who was repeatedly inappropriate with class members and could hardly identify any muscles other than the gluteus maximus on which he was quite focused. Despite his inappropriate behavior and his dangerous lack of knowledge of anatomy, he got to skate through the semester getting free massages and groping girls he would never otherwise be able to even buy a drink. I just couldn't get excited about having to be massaged by relative strangers every week and I definitely do not wake up and want to have to massage whatever random client may end up on my table. It'll also be nice not to have every guy I know "volunteering" to let me practice on him. Ugh. Anyway, relieved not to be spending money on tuition and not have school as an impediment to getting in hours at work. I am sick of jobs that require licensing in every different jurisdiction and massage would have just been more of the same, and more throwing licensing and membership fees into the wind. Time to move on.

The entire cockpit filled with snow.

While my running has slacked off to nothing of late we have been playing disc golf as often as weather and schedules permit. I got to try a new course, Rockburn, which was challenging, but a nice change of pace. I'm still far from being competitive with the surfer, but every once in awhile I even win a hole, and more and more often I manage to make par on a couple of holes during a game. I just bought a putter and another driver to add to my fledgling disc collection and replaced a lost "Nuke" for the surfer. I ordered the new discs from Amazon and there was no guarantee on what colors we'd receive. I like the funky green Mantis and the pale pink putter, but I'm jealous that they picked a bright pink for the surfer's Nuke when I'd love that color and he'd probably prefer anything else. C'est la vie. It'd be nice if there were more courses nearby. I probably most enjoy that playing disc is a way for the surfer and I to be out together without phones, television, or other distractions coming between us; it can be so hard to find that quality time when people can truly connect.

Pup dog adventuring while we played the course at Tuckahoe.

New discs; woo hoo!

Work is, as usual, draining, monotonous, and of uncertain duration. The latest I've heard is that the project will last until the end of February--which means I may be out of work in less than three weeks. Naturally, my budget cannot handle that sort of hiccup, so I need to cross my fingers they roll me onto another project and redouble my efforts to secure more lucrative, meaningful, and reliable income. In my heart of hearts all I want to do is write. I would love to be able to travel the world, experience all the different sights, sounds, flavors, wildlife, and cultures. But I think I would be happy in a little farmhouse in the middle of nowhere if I could support myself writing and have the privacy I crave. 

I've certainly been having a bit of an existential crisis with respect to being aboard. While I love being rocked to sleep by the sea and love to be out on the water, I do not enjoy sailing. Sailing is a means to an end--travel, getting to an interesting destination--and is not something I enjoy in and of itself. I suffer through it because I don't really have a choice anymore, but I wish I had bought an old VW camper van back in 2012 and driven around the country having adventures, seeing new sights these past few years, instead of being stuck in one place, never able to cobble together the funds needed to fix up the boat and take her places. Being at the helm is a chore; it means a day of being the responsible one, worrying about running aground, having safety gear at the ready, not being able to relax and have a cocktail. I can't really fathom why someone would want to spend precious free time that way. I certainly don't. I want to get somewhere and then enjoy myself. I fear that on a boat it just isn't going to happen, at least not anytime soon. But the boat did save my life in more ways than one and she keeps me from being homeless, so for now, home is where the boat is. Whether aboard or ashore, I just want to find some peace, joy, and prosperity with my pack around me. Home and family are so incredibly important to me and I guess home is wherever my pack and I manage to land. I can hardly wait for spring to come, with warmth and light and hope.

counting the days

Almost three weeks after Hunter's surgery, he's healing up nicely and seems to be doing well. I started him on a daily "calming treat" with L-Theanine, the compound in green tea that is relaxing and also an ingredient in my melatonin sleeping pill. I'm hoping it will help him relax and not lick that bald patch on his back. The fur actually does seem to be growing back some. The vet didn't really think he'd let them take his stitches out, based on what a terror he was the day of the surgery. But last Thursday I gave him a little morphine cocktail to take the edge off and with me there telling him how brave he was, one tech holding his scruff and legs, and another carefully cutting the sutures, they got them all out without a single hiss. So, now it's just a wait-and-see on whether the cancer is still lingering there and flares back up.

I've been making some progress aboard on interior organizing--and even found the duffel that I searched high and low for the night before I left for the Cooks last summer--but never quite as much progress as I feel I "ought" to be making. When the days are cloudy or rainy I don't want to do much but curl up and vegetate in front of the television. I'm trying to replace that with reading. An interview on a new-to-me podcast I started listening to, The School of Greatness, suggested having a "screen curfew" (yep, smart phone, iPad, and TV) of 8pm if you want to get to sleep at 10pm, and a "caffeine curfew" of 2pm for a 10pm bedtime. Not easy, but I'm trying. I don't usually drink coffee in the afternoon, but the green tea tends to flow all day so now I'm overdosing on the one herbal tea I have right now. Can't wait to have some moolah and stock up on rooibos at Capital Teas.

Of course I've been applying for jobs day in and day out, walking around town handing out résumés at restaurants and applying online for various legal and other "professional" gigs. As usual, I've hardly had any nibbles. But miracle of miracles I went to open interviews for a restaurant slated to open late next month and within a couple hours of my interview they offered me a full-time bartending position. If I make the cut through training and all goes well, I would be able to get benefits after a few months. I'm excited to have a job on the horizon, to be part of something new, and to be behind the bar. Now I'm counting the days...training starts in two weeks, and it will likely be another two weeks before making any tips.

While I'm grateful to have the job, I am sad that it means I won't be able to cast off the lines in April and sail away. But all I can do right now is take things day by day to try to get on my feet. Batteries and solar panels are at the top of the "to do" list, but I also have to save enough for fuel and dockage while I head down the ditch and there are myriad other projects, large and small, that I need to tackle aboard. Right now I have a whopping $14, (unless I can save myself $57 and get out of my storage unit by Saturday), but bills are paid until about a month from now and I've probably got enough food aboard to get by, even if it eventually means eating pancakes three meals a day. I've done it before and I'll find a way to pull through. (Fingers crossed my last jewelry that's worth anything sells on consignment quickly and nets me some decent coin.)

I am certainly tired of just surviving instead of thriving, but life has its ups and downs and I just have to ride the wave back up. Actually, that sounds far too passive. Some people just let life happen to them and others act upon the world. I'm definitely in the latter camp. But sometimes knowing how to tuck your head and fall safely is critical to being able to get back up and dust yourself off. Anyway, despite all the crap life has thrown my way lately and being broke, I'm not broken. I'm building my running mileage back up, 20 miles week before last, 23 last week, targeting 25 this week, and then 28 the next. Once I'm back to a solid 30 miles a week my energy will be up and my figure will slim down and I'll be feeling better all-around. I'm working on some freelance writing that won't pay much but will be something and help me build my portfolio. I'm trying to get focused on some bigger writing projects, as I've had a couple of book ideas swirling around for years but never forced myself to sit down and focus. If I'm going to tend bar to cover the nut, then I need to be focusing on moving other projects forward for the long term, like finding ways to support myself through writing and support myself working remotely. I do not want to live my life in one place or tied to the dock. I ordered the passport with extra visa pages for a reason--I want to fill it before it expires.

two years in the blogosphere

It feels like just yesterday that I started this crazy adventure. But at the same time, it feels like I've been at it--blogging and living aboard--for as long as I can remember. It's funny the tricks time and memory play on us. A big thank you to my readers who have followed along from the beginning, the middle, or just happened upon our tale. 

I don't really think I'm doing anything particularly brave living on a boat at a fancy marina in a sophisticated metropolitan area of the "civilized" world. Living aboard feels so natural to me that I couldn't really imagine life any other way now. But it is a "different" and "challenging" lifestyle, so I guess that's why when out walking my dog a couple of ladies thought this single girl living aboard with a dog and two cats, staying aboard through last winter, is so brave. But living aboard doesn't seem brave in and of itself to me, even a girl doing it on her own. Brave is being willing and able to do anything on your own, walking away from the "safe" and "predictable" with no idea what lies ahead. 

I'm on the plane and miss my pets already. But I told them I love them and I know they will be alright and it's just a month without me. So it's a few minutes to wheels up and the adventure will begin.

love letters

In the process of moving out of my office I came across a lifetime of mementos. A postcard from Mexico caught my eye. I flipped it over to see who it was from. Chris. It didn't ring a bell. So I read the note:

"While you are standing at your till being harassed by Gary and his nephew, I am sitting out on the veranda eating shrimp, drinking beer, and watching the surf crash against the beach. While you are sitting in that dismal employee room chainsmoking, I am swimming through jade colored waters, amongst bright colored fish and swaying seaweed. But wait! I am coming back. I sent you this to show you I really do like you. I will become a doctor. I will give you foot massages. I will give you Valium. I will give you codeine. I will give you phenobarbital. Wait for me -- Chris"

That may well be the most romantic missive I've ever received. I believe the author was a busser at the Mallory Hotel, where I worked as a maitre d' during my college summers. I wonder if he became a doctor; it seems he was a talented writer.

Last Valentine's Day I received a small card, it was bright pink and had sparklies, which means some thought had gone into covering all the girly bases. I'd rebuffed the guy, so the note was particularly amusing: "Happy Valentine's Day. Whatever."

I miss being in love. That feeling of exhilaration. Having someone to cook and bake for. Sleeping next to someone who just "fits."

Hopefully, one of these days I will find a guy who "fits" and we will both have a sense of urgency about being together, a realization that time and connections are fleeting. Yet I don't want to be the center of anyone's universe; I can't handle the responsibility.

speechless

Sitting here with a glass of wine, the pup curled up beside me, Riders on the Storm playing in the background. I have an exquisite backgammon board tucked at the other end of the settee. Cherry, with an inlaid leather playing surface. Built-in tracks and cubbies for the pieces and dice. I am preparing to head out for the evening, with no particular place to go, meeting up with a friend at some point along the way. But what would be a perfect evening on a chilly winter night like this? To find someone to curl up at the other end of the settee, help me through the wine, playing backgammon, enjoying some classic Doors, all the while speechless.

The ability to be quiet is truly underrated by society, particularly with respect to romantic partners. I don't need someone to talk to. The dog is a good listener; why would I replace that with a person who will judge, give unsolicited advice, or ramble back at me. My closest friends and I don't even need to say anything. The important things are just understood, as are the routine. The stuff in the middle can make for entertaining conversation, but doesn't have to. It's that insatiable urge people have to fill silence with ricketa-racketa, with anything at all, that simply wears me down and drives me back to the solitude and quiet of my boat.

But when someone suggests meeting up for a drink, am I to say, "OK, but we don't have to talk do we?" (Yes, I'm laughing at that, but I'm also quite serious.) Maybe I just want to be out in the world, have a drink at the bar, but sit back and watch. Maybe I don't want to have to come up with conversation or try to stay attentive to some guy's story about... whatever. This isn't solely about romantic partners by any means, but with respect to them I can tell you guys don't "get" girls with anything they say. A girl has decided within about 30 seconds max whether a guy is that kind of material; it's a pheromone thing. If a guy then says something stupid it may kill his chances, so he's honestly better off staying quiet. I bluntly (or cruelly, depending on your perspective) categorize guys immediately into the "fuckable zone" or the "friend zone." Honestly, it isn't even an overt or conscious sorting. But let me just reiterate that the "friend zone" is like Hotel California... you can check in, but you can never leave.

But back to the point of this rant... words are not what companionship, love, or friendship are about. They can't create any of those things, but they can destroy them. I'm not saying I hate words; writing is one of the only things I do well, so I have to be thankful for words and the outlet they provide me. But they are overused and abused. I have a draft post I'll have to finish up on love letters. Short, sweet, honest, and passionate; that's what words should be. But I'll still be looking for a free spirited guy who can look in my eyes and not need to say a thing.

why?

A friend recently asked me why I decided to start a blog. Why, he asked, would I want to share all my personal stuff all over the internet? He had brought that up before, as have others, so it is clearly something that makes some people uncomfortable. And despite spilling all my insides all over the internet here, I actually value my privacy greatly.

Although it seems as if every liveaboard/cruiser has a blog, I find many are dull and poorly written. Many are pictorial travelogues meant to keep family and friends "back home" up-to-date on the trip; there is nothing wrong with that, but without any personal story to it, it simply doesn't pull me in and make me wonder "What's going to happen next?" "Will they make it?" Then there are the "how-to" fix-it blogs. It may be interesting or helpful for a project to see how someone else did their solar panel installation or rebuilt their engine or organized their galley, but, again, if there isn't an interesting protagonist there, I'm unlikely to keep going back to follow progress and would instead think of it as an occasional reference material. I'd be far more likely to seek out YouTube videos of repairs if I'm looking for detailed technical assistance for a project. I guess what I want to know when I read the "how-to" project or the travelogue is "why was that important?" "how did it change you?" "how did it make you feel?" "why was it a challenge?" I can buy a textbook on engine repair or a travel guide to the islands; when I read a blog I want to know the personal side of the story that I can't get from that textbook or Fodor's.

So, there are countless bloggers out there living aboard, cruising, sailing, fixing up their boats, and having adventures. Do we really need yet another one? Maybe I should stop all this writing nonsense.

So, why did I do it? One reason is that I think my blog is not just like all the others out there precisely because I spill my insides all over. I'm smart and determined, but I'm also tackling things that are new and challenging to me. My blog isn't full of success stories. It's full of hopes, fears, half-starts, failed projects, laughs, tears, temper tantrums, and the occasional victory. It's full of reality. Not edited to just show the sunsets and good times. I think it's because I truly put myself out here, let myself be vulnerable, laugh at myself, and share my failures, that some readers out there connect with my story and follow along to see "Will she do it?"

I'm sharing a heartfelt diary and even if no one follows along I enjoy writing and will be able to look back some day and read it and wonder...why the hell did I start a blog? Is it arrogant to think I have something to say that anyone cares to hear? I guess so. But then I guess any musician who plays a song is arrogant to think anyone would want to hear it or any author who writes a story is arrogant to think it deserves to be read. I don't know that I accomplish it, but I try to express some feelings and challenges that many of us face in life but not all are willing or able to share. If I could point a reader to only one post on this blog it would still be love and the singlehander from last Valentine's Day.

This blog will not teach anyone how to sail, how to fix much of anything, or how to live aboard. But it will show people what it is like to live on a "project boat," to survive winter aboard, to learn to sail. Although the backdrop is a boat, it's really a story about a single girl re-building her life, dealing with love and loss, facing self-doubt and rising to challenges. I'm sharing my personal journey with whomever cares to come along for the ride with the outlook that orbis non sufficit: the world is not enough. 

Thanksgiving supper was...

yummy chocolate porter.

First ice on the water today, brrr.

P.S. Annapolis is not enough. s/v Ambrosia is preparing to cast off the lines and looking for crew. Who's brave enough to go down The Ditch in the winter with me? Tickity-tock... we're trying to head out before Christmas. And perhaps folks will be wondering... "Will she do it?" "Will she make it?"

friends I haven't met yet

I never cease to be amazed and touched by the feedback about my blog that I receive from total strangers, or, as one reader put it, "friends I haven't met yet." I've had public, anonymous, and for-my-eyes-only comments left on the blog, as well as emails and private messages via forums. Some are long-time liveaboards or experienced boaters, others are new to the adventure or planning the move. It's incredibly touching to receive these wonderful comments and messages encouraging me, complimenting my writing, thanking me for sharing my journey, wishing me well in finding love, or reminding me that the floppy-haired sailor guy didn't deserve me.

I didn't set out with any particular purpose or focus in starting this blog. I just began documenting the process of boat-shopping and then moving aboard and it took on a life of its own. It became a diary, a place where I rant, and cry, and laugh. My blog provides a smattering of photos and occasionally before-and-after documentation of repairs, but little in the way of "how to" advice. I call it the soap opera of my life aboard. I sometimes think "Why would anyone want to read about my frustrations, heartbreaks, and little victories?" Even if no one does, it's my outlet and doesn't really need to be anything more than that. So I have been moved by the many messages I receive thanking me for sharing my personal emotional journey, for being honest and heartfelt. Not everyone is comfortable "spilling their insides all over the Internet," as one friend put it, but apparently I am.

I've already gone on quite a personal journey without hardly leaving the slip. In online forums I see folks who've circumnavigated and don't have a clue about life, and love, and friendship. As with everything in life, what you bring to the adventure and what you make it determine what you get out of it. As a runner, it makes me think of marathons and ultras. A marathon is a 26 mile tunnel of deep, dark self-doubt, and then .2 miles of glorious, shining personal victory. The success would not be so sweet if it weren't for the pain and the process of reaching deep inside oneself to learn whether you have the mental and emotional fortitude to come out the other side. Aside from obvious physical barriers, anyone can train their legs to run, anyone can learn to sail. But you can get so much more out of those experiences if you let yourself be vulnerable. Take the challenges, failures, and successes as opportunities to learn about your fears, weaknesses, and strengths. If you then embrace and harness them--that is when you find your center, your true north, your inner strength to bring yourself through the roughest seas of life.

My blog may not prepare anyone for winter aboard, or dealing with a full holding tank, or learning to sail. But perhaps it lets a few folks out there know they are not alone in their frustrations or their dreams.

A very heartfelt thank you to all of my readers, whether sailors or landlubbers, friends new and old, or friends I just haven't met yet.