The Sailor

Tim said once at the beginning of our venture into sailboat-owning that he couldn't call himself a sailor.....not yet. A sailor to him was someone who had earned the right, who had actually sailed, who had gained the experience of days on the water in all conditions, whose boat had at some point made the transformation from awkward acquaintance to mistress. While we were on the lake today, in some of the best wind we've had all summer, it occurred to me that we were no longer beginners. We were feeling the subtle shifts of weight and balance, hearing the slightest failing of the sails long before they required serious attention, trimming the sheets ever so slightly to tweek the last little bit of performance, or sometimes simply to ease Nomad's struggle upwind. We were, at last, ahead of the curve instead of behind, engaged in the ages-long dance with the water in a truly remarkable vessel. It was one of those magical days where everything comes together, when you are at peace with yourself and the sun is shining, where life is good and you require nothing more than the moment. I guess at last Tim can call himself a sailor.