What I learned
Go for it. This is the punchline for the year. If you have a big personal dream, you should go for it. I don’t mean quit everything and abruptly take off. I mean you should do the work to make it happen. Every preparation step is a gate along the way to validate your conviction, and if you get there, then go for it.
But, other than the obvious “do it,” what else am I taking from this year aboard Eventide?
Voyages of exploration are about learning, and while we weren’t charting an unknown course to humanity, it was all new to us. This year of discovery has changed us in ways we are just beginning to realize and the learning is what made it all worthwhile.
Eventide stern-tied in Melanie Cove, Desolation Sound, British Columbia, Canada.
First, let us start with the easy to quantify. I learned several practical skills. I know how to get a few more knots of speed out of the boat at virtually all wind angles. I have taken apart and successfully reassembled all of the major boat systems. I’m a passable mechanic on our diesel engine and generator. I can tear down and rebuild a folding propeller. I am much better at reading forecasts and understanding the resulting wind, weather, and sea state. I can fix problems with our instruments and chart systems. I can accomplish basic living in Spanish, beyond asking where the library is.
And when I say “I learned” I really should say “we learned” as everyone on board has taken part in all of these lessons. Each person from their own angle and perspective, but I know everyone learned many new practical skills and will draw upon these experiences for years to come.
Second, I have become more grateful for things that mariners in the US often take for granted. We have unrivaled weather resources in NOAA and the National Weather Service. Data and forecasts everywhere you look – and it is all free. We have detailed, up-to-date, free charts also produced by NOAA – not the case in Canada and Mexico. We have an active, engaged, and ever-present Coast Guard. We have access to parts and supplies in short timeframes.
Third, the “bigger” lessons – the ones people write about in self-help books or cruising articles – are harder to put down. I would like to say I had some revelatory experience, but I am more of a believer in the slow, methodical un-rolling of life’s bigger lessons. I had many small moments of magical thinking (credit to Joan Didion who might have written the greatest title ever for a self-discovery book with “The Year of Magical Thinking”). If we all learned the important lessons with a bang, there would not be much learning involved. It is the repeated failure interspersed with moments of clarity that distills truths. The pursuit of these truths is the journey we all go on.
Right, right, but come on… this is the internet, we need a list of things.
People make everything better. It starts with the 5 of us becoming closer than I imagined, but it did not stop at the boundary of our nuclear family. We met so many people and formed bonds with many of them. We shared interests and were not defined by where we came from, the job we had, the schools we went to, or the boat we were on. We had the time to let conversations unfold without rushing to the next appointment or activity. The greatest luxury was having this time. There was not a sight, store, or restaurant to go to in most cases. There might be a fishing spot, surf break, or lagoon, but that was it.
Slow is okay. When you travel between 5 and 8 miles per hour for a year your sense of time dilates. When it is 100 degrees for hours in the day you slow down. You can fight it and mostly just frustrate yourself. Life happens along the way, not at the end of a passage or when you complete the job. In that dilated time, you will find nuances and thoughts that only come with the unfurling of space at this speed. Time does indeed have a curve, coming to meet you but always bending away to possibilities you can only glimpse. It is not a straight-line connecting moments. (Credit for this idea goes to “The Curve of Time” by M. Wylie Blanchet.)
The greatest moments come after the most spectacular failures. There are no shortcuts or months sitting on the beach. The best laid plans collapse in ways you did not even think possible. Your propeller will fall off (okay it was just one of the blades). You will have all the spare parts you do not need and none of the parts you do need. At some point, the weather will simply not match the forecast (or more likely you will not have read the forecast in the way needed to reveal the actual feeling out there.) Someone, more likely everyone in serial progression, will get sick at the most inopportune time. None of this is your fault. It is not worth spending time feeling bad (but you will do plenty of that). You are going to have to get yourself out of the situation and that takes all your focus. The time for reflection will come later. And when you do get up and move on, the great moments are just around the corner. And a box of chocolate covered marshmallows will help ease the pain along the way.
Teachers have hard jobs. We knew this, but walking a year in their shoes really taught us both how much impact they have and how hard the work is. Say thank you to the teacher that made a difference in your life or your child’s – hours were spent outside the classroom and in the classroom creating that impact.
Yesterday was epic, today is hard, and tomorrow is full of possibility. Your journey is lived in the minutes but creates meaning in the weeks. A year like this is a steady stream of “newness”. There were hours of pure bliss, often with the sails up and the glittering world slipping by mile by mile. But then the fridge would stop working. Or that wonderful wind would just get a bit too strong or too light. Or those waves would hit at exactly the wrong angle. Or the anchorage at the end of the day would be too small, too shallow, too crowded, and most likely, all of the above. And yet by tomorrow, it will not be the frustration that is remembered, it will be the overcoming of the challenge. It will be the sound of the wind, the warmth of the sun, and the surge of the boat as it rides the air forward. Months later, the epic memories win out, chiseled in sharp relief by the challenges to earn them.
Ask for help, be nice, and people want to provide it. We needed a lot of help and everywhere we went, we found wonderful people who were willing to provide it. Some folks will not respond or be know-it-alls, but if you look, be nice, and ask, you will find folks who want to engage. You are not all alone, and you do not need to face everything by yourself.
The highest definition picture is the real world. After years of COVID and mostly experiencing travel through TV documentaries, we had almost forgotten what the world out there is like. It is beautiful. It is changing. It can be full of life in one spot and devoid of it mere miles down the road. It has deep blues that radiate sunshine, reds and oranges that draw in warmth. It is messy and moves at a slower pace than made-for-TV shows or news. It is our little spaceship in the vast cosmos. And it is spectacular. If we really want to shepherd it for the generations to come, we must realize just how spectacular the real thing is.
Mexico is way more than we expected. Despite being our next-door neighbor and having been there a few times before, we really had no appreciation for the rich and complex country that modern day Mexico is. It is not defined by our State Department warnings. It isn’t just about the beach resorts, big cities, and tacos – but these are all awesome! Life is very different in the coastal towns and endlessly fascinating once you sink past the surface and get over preconceived notions. And I am willing to bet this is true all over the world.
Punchline: Do it. This is the only life any of us have. That’s it.