Sometime in the last couple of days, I'm not exactly sure when or why, something inside me shifted. It has been a few years since Deb brought up the idea of retiring onto a boat, which morphed into a sailboat, which grew into having little Nomad to learn about sailing and practice living aboard. To that we added sailing in Pensacola, going around Long Island, and the Bahama Bash. Everything about the plan has been a grand adventure and a huge amount of fun. Most important (as mentioned before) was my new appreciation for simple, light, be-a-part-of-the-environment living that contrasted my go fast, go far, push the limits high risk assault on life. It helped that sailing (to my surprise) can have its share of high-wire moments. Big ocean...little boat...all the weather a pilot knows so well...strange and new places; how could it be any other way? And who would want it to be? As the years go by a rush junkie just turns into an old(er) rush junkie. To lose the rush is to lose the reason to breathe good air. I was content to be on the path we are following.
But I am chaffing at the lines all of a sudden.
I thought it just might be the "winter blues." After all, it has been weeks since I last walked Nomad's deck. But the weather doesn't really bother me much anymore. I'll take a little cold if it comes without bugs. It is much more likely we will have a heater on the boat than an air conditioner. We like the older style Cats that lack the sliding glass wall simply because they look easier to keep warm. (Well, I also happen to think they just look better.) There is a constant parade of Good Old Boat, Cruising World, Sailing World, and Practical Sailor at the mail box to read by the fireplace. Kind of a nice way to spend an evening. It can't be winter.
Then I thought it just a matter of being a bit bored. I don't have a bike to ride, not sailing, and not flying much. I spend more time pushing paper than I do rudder peddles. But there has been a constant flow of Daughters, Son-in-Laws, and grand babies through my living room. We have flown to Portland, ME and Harrisburg, PA in the last week, getting in some night and weather flying, shucked off some ice, flown an approach or two. In the next few days it is off to Ft. Lauderdale. After the visits of the holidays end I have a whole list of work to do on the house and some new tools that Santa brung me to play with. Being bored isn't it either.
Someone suggested I'm just feeling the rush of time...maybe...but I'm not really wired that way. I expect to be annoyed by the interruption whenever it comes my turn to shuffle off this mortal stage. I don't have a "bucket list." What's the last item on such a list, jump off a bridge? Someone else suggested that I am embarrassed by the culture I live in, and need to put a little distance between me and it. (That person might have a point.)
What ever it was that happened - January 9, 2011 - and I just really, really want to be gone.
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