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November 2016

Passing the Helm

 

To pass the helm to an excited prospect brings joy in watching their anticipation of a lifestyle yet to be had. To give up the helm brings sadness, regret, and admonition as I wrestle with accepting who I am. To rationalize my luck in being healthy with no signs of cancer, kidney failure, or heart disease with the demise of loneliness is a tough pill to swallow.

The pain resulting from a sense of being unloved and unwanted by a romantic partner became unbearable. When the prospect of an attractive and kind  partner offered to spend the rest of his life with me, I couldn’t resist. Certainly, I didn’t. Maybe under different circumstances I would have resisted. Why I didn’t is a bit hazy.

Was it the fear of moving to the next leg of the voyage? I think that was it. Sailing toward the Caribbean after getting comfortable finding my way around the Bahamas conjured up fears. The water depth in the Virgin Islands and parts beyond was said to be upwards of 100 feet at anchorages. Up until this time I rarely dropped the hook in more than 10 feet.

Many questions plagued my waking hours. Did I have enough chain? Would I have to dive on the anchor? Who would help me? Rather than do more research and focus on what I could do to alleviate the fear, I looked for an escape. My past behavior shows a pattern of finding a mate. Since the 3rd grade, it seems I was always eyeing some good looking guy.

To want to sail alone while inclined to need/want a boyfriend befuddles me. In the end, though, having a mate won the battle. It has now been 2 1/2 years since giving up the helm. It has been 30 months since I sought an adventure worthy of writing about.

In line with the cliche ‘the check is in the mail’ I wonder, what will happen to me. Will I return to small boat racing? Will I wish SPRAY and I were still the team we were for 3 wonderful years? Will I find a new passion?

Que Sera, Sera, is such a simple way to negate all the negative feelings, regrets and unresolved understanding of why I am not amongst the solo sailors who made the circumnavigation I continue to dream about. The desire awakens me at least 3 or 4 nights a week. My subconscious seeks a way to make it happen only to be dismissed at first light.

And, so it is. Rather than this website being a journal of well documented researched articles about my life as a solo sailor, it has become a place to ramble, to vent, to document my thoughts. Sorry to bore folks, but soon, I may again give up my volunteer job and concentrate on my passion for sailing. For now, I think I will go for an intriguing walk along Panther Creek, in the darkness of our first week of daylight savings time in the year 2016.

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Hillary Clinton, My Kind of Gal

How many of us cried when waking to the news that Donald Trump won Presidential Election? I sure did. After all, I watched my entire adult life a woman who set a goal then did what she could to achieve it. That amounts to about 45 years. More than double the time I spent trying to capitalize on becoming a champion sailor.

Endless hours, more than 50% of my earnings, and too many missed opportunities with family and friends were spent with one single goal: to win a championship. In that respect Hillary and I have common ground. She set herself a goal. Like an arrow being shot in the dark, she drew back the bow, aimed high, and with heart and soul, let it fly.

Members of my local sailing club, once called me a tough broad. I hated that term. Referring to a woman as a broad had a derogatory tone. My dad called single woman, and woman who achieved outside the traditional home lifestyle ‘broads.’ I wasn’t, and never will be a broad. Neither is Hillary.

You can mock her dress if you find boxy shaped pants suits and covered cleavage if you want. You can displace your jealousy because she is a substantial wage earner and not dependent on her husband to pay the bills if that is your choice. The reality is, this woman took on leadership roles, while most of my friends and colleagues, had neither the strength or wisdom to step outside the box.

I regret not taking a more active role in the political process. It is my fault she lost the election. I could have spent more time and money posting signs and hosting meetings. Rather, I chose to play the piano, read books, drive aimlessly around the country, attend ladies’ coffee, strive to win a race, and even indulge in libations.

So, while real tears streamed down my cheeks when it became apparent she would not be the next President of the United States, I knew it was my fault. No petition or protest, after the fact, will change the outcome of the election. There is no doubt in my mind that Hillary Clinton will go down in history as a woman who did more than care about people. She took action, tolerated accusations for being corrupt over a misinterpretation, and stayed on course even when her husband’s ego did unrequited damage to their marriage. Why people hated her I will never know.

Anyway, this is my banter, my venting, and my continued belief, that Mrs. Hillary Clinton, is my kind of gal!

 

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