Every time we dropped the anchor, something in me softened and dropped. On the boat again!
And I was in my element. Put me in, on or near water, and I’m happy. An ocean, a lake, a puddle … the effect was always the same and always instant:
A deep relaxation, as if I just came out of a 4-hour massage.
For years, I thought this had to do with the effect water itself had on me. Still has on me.
Its stillness. Its roar when the wind picks up.
Being on the boat gave me a feeling I rarely had in daily life. Especially that first spring day, back on the boat after being cooped up inside for months in a row. Heaven!
Things have changed.
I still love being on the boat. Being on, near, or in water.
But I see now that this alive, peaced-out, almost weightless feeling never had anything to do with water. Or circumstances. Or the people I’m with. Or what I’m doing.
None of that had anything to do with it.
What happened was simply this:
For a moment, however long that took, I wasn’t busy being anywhere other than where I was.
I was just … there. Not already 6 thoughts away about what to have for dinner and if the water would be too cold and oh, was it time for a new website?
All my senses were just there, too. Instead of following each thought like a line of kids following a drunken Pied Piper of Hamelin.
Now, I’m sitting on my balcony.
The sun is a little too hot, and sweat trickles down my back.
The neighbor’s music’s turned on WAY too loud. Another neighbor feels that 10 am on a Sunday morning is the perfect time to drill some pointless holes in a concrete wall.
Planes are flying over so low that I could give the pilot the finger and she could actually see me doing that.
These are not the circumstances that would normally bring out the best of my mood. And they’re certainly not triggers for any kind of peace and calm. If anything, loud noises and uncomfortable temperatures are triggers for a shitload of anger and annoyance.
But without the stories of it being too hot and too noisy and people can be such anti-social assholes, what’s left is simply —
Fingers typing.
Warm tea flowing down my throat like a river flows downstream.
A bird tweeting.
Tree leaves dancing, rustling, in a soft breeze.
In the midst of drilling, planes and music, also quiet.
Just there, unbothered by any of it.
I still love being on the water.
But I no longer need it like oxygen.
Turned out it was never the boat or that water that made me feel like all my knots and aches had been massaged away.
It was not leaving where I already was.
Love,
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