lessons learned on the sailboat

UNCLE MIKE

I have three generations of beloved Michaels in my family. My son Michael was named after my younger brother, who was named after my mom’s older brother, a wonderful man affectionately known as ‘Uncle Mike’.

Uncle Mike was one of those larger-than-life characters who was more than a little intimidating with his booming voice and his commanding personality. As I made my way through my teen years, however, I saw beneath the bluster and came to know, respect, and deeply love the charming and gentle man who was a beloved and steadfast fixture in my life (and who took a little piece of my heart with him when he died suddenly five months ago).

SUMMER MAGIC

As a child, summer for me meant three glorious weeks spent at our family cottage on Georgian Bay. Those magical weeks with my siblings, parents, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents represent some of the memories I hold closest to my heart and I am never happier than when I am on that beloved piece of Canadian Shield.

I was ten years old the summer that Uncle Mike and Aunt Elizabeth bought their first large sailboat. It had a bright red hull and a sparkling white deck, and I would hang around on the dock hoping to be invited aboard for a cup of tea, for cocktail hour with the adults, or for an afternoon sail around the bay. For us kids, being invited to go on a sail with Uncle Mike felt like winning the lottery, and with lifejackets in hand, we would eagerly request permission to come aboard and settle in for the thrill ahead.

Clockwise from Left: Uncle Mike at the helm, a Georgian Bay sunset this past summer, the family cottage (the cabins are original and were built just after WW1)  

READY ABOUT?!

The only thing I did not enjoy about sailing with Uncle Mike was shifting direction because it always felt so chaotic, scary, and loud. As Uncle Mike prepared his crew to help the boat successfully come about, his voice would boom in my ears as he hollered, “Ready about...?”. When he determined that everyone on board was prepared, his next command was an equally ear-splitting, “Hard alee!”.

For me, those suspended moments which followed that second command were filled with confusion, chaos, and white fear. The sails would luff noisily, the ropes would clang against the mast, the boom would swing dangerously across the girth of the deck, and the boat would shift uncomfortably beneath me. I remember clenching my hands tightly in my lap and holding my breath while fervently hoping the boat would safely change course.

I also remember watching Uncle Mike closely to see if there were any signs of fear or panic. Even as a young kid, I knew that if he looked calm and confident while it seemed to me the whole world was spinning into complete chaos, then everything would be okay. And every single time, without fail, the chaos would settle, the sails would catch the wind, the peacefulness would re-establish itself, and Uncle Mike would once more be humming along to our favourite ABBA tunes.

I did not know then that my beloved Uncle Mike was teaching me a valuable life lesson: as human beings, we have to ‘come about’ whether we like it or not. We have to change direction constantly in big and small ways: a move, a birth, a death, a separation, a divorce, a job loss, an illness, etc. And even if (as Dr. Suess so adorably puts it) we are ‘scared right out of our pants’, we have no choice but to move through the confusion and the fear that can accompany these shifts in direction.

And even though the turmoil can feel life-threatening, we know from experience that the boat will eventually right itself and that calm sailing is inevitable before the next shift in direction is required. We also know that even difficult shifts in direction help us grow - even if they are brutally hard at the time.

THE CALL

The other thing that I did not know way back in those halcyon summers of my youth was that Uncle Mike was preparing me for this past year of my life, an adventure and an era that I fondly refer to as ‘The Sailboat Life’.

My first ‘call to adventure’ arrived in the wee hours of Monday, May 1st, 2023. My ‘wee hours’ usually start around 4:00 a.m. and always include a long meditation session followed by writing at least 1,000 words of Morning Pages (also known as a daily journal). I have been practicing this morning routine since 2007 and cannot imagine starting my day any other way.

One of the things I love most about my early morning meditation practice is that I can detach from my day-to-day life and tune into the magic and mystery of this benevolent Universe (what the 13th-century Sufi poet Jalaluddin Rumi referred to as tuning into ‘the secrets of the morning breeze’). For me, the morning breeze is very talkative, and I always come away with some astonishing pearl of wisdom that shapes my life in some significant way.

So, there I was on the morning of Monday, May 1st, sitting quietly in my meditation when the morning breeze offered up a surprising and unmistakable nudge to give my landlord two months’ notice on my beautiful home in Hamilton (which, in my soon-to-be-published memoir, I fondly refer to as ‘The House of the Dancing Rainbows’).

With my big brother (Jim) moving from his basement apartment at the end of June (we had been living in the same fourplex for two years) and all three of my sons having relocated to Calgary, I decided that the morning nudge was bang-on. It was time to leave Hamilton and move closer to my sweetheart in Cambridge (where he was living with his two teenage sons in a two-week shared custody arrangement with his ex-wife).

As the reality of leaving the Hamilton area (where I had been living since February of 2002) settled in, the first order of business was to find myself a home.

THROWING CAUTION TO THE WIND

The entire month of May saw me touring over a dozen possibilities for my next home. I eagerly applied for the ones that met my criteria and was turned down flat for each and every one. It turns out that an adorable golden retriever and a sweet little black kitty are not particularly attractive assets for any landlord.

On June 2nd, just before flying out to Calgary to spend my 55th birthday with my three sons (who live together as an adorable little family in a lovely house owned by my eldest son, Max), I had not yet found a place to live. In another morning meditation session, I decided that, rather than take a place that wasn’t exactly right for me, I would throw caution to the wind and ‘flex my freedom’ by living nomadically for the summer (my very own version of ‘Freedom 55’).

And so, with that daring and completely out-of-character decision made, I booked three UHaul storage containers and two burly movers for the end of the month.

Clockwise from top: My 55th birthday in Calgary, my very last night in 'The House of the Dancing Rainbows' (which, in hindsight, should have been my first clue as to how minimally I was going to be living in the months ahead), all my 'stuff and things' carefully packed away and being driven away  

MOM’S NOMADIC LIFE (AKA 'THE SAILBOAT LIFE')

Once I saw all my stuff safely moved into the three storage containers and I left ‘The House of The Dancing Rainbows’ for the last time, it did not take me long to realize how utterly liberating it was to live what my sons fondly referred to as, ‘Mom’s Nomadic Life’ - “she doesn’t stay in one place for long, she knows where her treasure is buried, and she has never been happier...”.

For the very first time in my adult life, I had no responsibilities - no house to clean, lawn to cut, garden to weed, rent or utilities to pay, or ‘stuff and things’ weighing me down. I was utterly free to go where the wind was taking me!

And, in yet another early morning meditation session, it came to me that I was living ‘The Sailboat Life’...and LOVING it!

I decided I was so happy living nomadically (and enjoying my freedom so much) that I didn’t want my own place. I committed to one full year of testing my wings and living in a way I never had.

I asked Thomas if he would be willing to be ‘Home Harbour’ for my sailboat every other two weeks (to which he wholeheartedly agreed). And for the other two weeks, I requested shelter from my parents and my boys in Calgary.

I was utterly delighted when all parties happily consented, and I found myself in the heady position of having the freedom to sail in and out of ‘Home Harbour’ at will, changing tack every other Friday morning when Thomas’s boys were moving in or out of his house or when I was heading to Calgary.

LESSONS LEARNED

My year living The Sailboat Life taught me many lessons too numerous to share in this limited format. For the purposes of this missive, I challenged myself to whittle them down to three.

LESSON No. 1: Wherever I Go...There I Am

With every other Friday as the ‘changeover day’ (when Thomas’s sons were moving in or out), Fridays became my ‘coming-about- days’.

I have already alluded to the fact that shifting direction is inordinately difficult, so it won’t surprise you to learn that my coming-about-days challenged me each and every time (some more than others).

The most trying were when I was not feeling well or when I was really settled in with Thomas in ‘Home Harbour’. On those days, I did not want to leave my sweetheart or the comfort of being around my treasures for two whole weeks and changing tack took all I had to execute successfully.

However, one of the things I learned from sailing with Uncle Mike was that a beautiful tack can only last so long before it is time to shift direction (be it because the wind shifts direction or because there is danger ahead). And so, whether I wanted to or not, Friday mornings saw me packing my suitcase, packing my car, packing the treasures I would need for two weeks, and heading off to one of my other ports.

And then, when I would settle into meditation early the following morning, I was always delighted to recognize (once again) that my happiness did not depend on my geography, on the people I was with, or on my ‘stuff and things’ and that all I truly needed was safely intact.

And what did I truly need? Me!!!

As human beings, it is easy to subscribe to the collapsed belief that bricks and mortar and ‘stuff and things’ provide us with the security we need. What I was learning each and every time I successfully shifted direction was that I was more resourced than I had ever realized and that as long as I had me, I was a-okay.

LESSON No. 2: ‘Simplify, Simplify, Simplify’

One of the things that always intrigued me about being belowdecks on Uncle Mike’s sailboat was the distinct minimum of ‘stuff and things’. Years later, as the mother of three sons, I used to dream about the day I would have the opportunity to achieve that kind of aesthetic in my life (Thoreau aptly referred to it as ‘simplify, simplify, simplify’).

Once the summer of 2023 was behind me and I settled into The Sailboat Life, it didn’t take me long to realize that my sailboat was feeling weighed down by the three UHaul containers that had been so carefully packed back in June. I also realized that having committed to an entire year of The Sailboat Life, I did not want to continue paying over $400 a month to store them.

And so, in yet another surprising (and completely unanticipated) moment of ‘wee hours’ clarity, I decided to whittle my life down to what Thomas had room to store in his basement (which turned out to be my bed frame, two bedside tables, 2 guitars, and 48 boxes). We placed my mattress on top of his, and we both felt a little like The Princess And The Pea those first few nights, but we soon grew accustomed to the new arrangement of his bed.

If I had felt heady freedom with my ‘stuff and things’ in storage, I felt utterly weightless once the UHaul truck came to collect those empty containers.

I will admit to the odd pang of “Oh, but I loved that table, chair, couch...” but mostly, it was utter relief to feel that my sailboat had lost considerable weight and was even more nimble in its ability to follow the wind.

In addition, what I chose to keep took on even more meaning because my precious belongings were no longer lost in the melee of ‘stuff and things’ and stood out as chosen treasures that I knew would travel with me wherever my life was headed.

And so, the long-ago dream had come true, and I had simplified my life even beyond my wildest imaginings.

Take the couch...but not the man! :)
The empty boxes being removed from Thomas's driveway (woohoo!!!)

LESSON No. 3: “I Don’t Know" Is As Thrilling As It Is Terrifying

One of the things I noticed when I shared The Sailboat Life with my family, friends, and clients was an intriguing mix of surprised, delighted, intrigued, and appalled. I never knew which reaction I would get from any one person at any given time, and it was fascinating to observe.

For the people who thought I had completely lost my mind (and wanted to tell me so), I quickly learned that no amount of assurance that I had never been happier in my life would persuade them to change their minds about my sanity. So, I would fix those adorable Madagascar penguins into my mind’s eye (“smile and wave boys, smile and wave...”) and then make my escape as soon as I could.

It didn’t take me long to realize that my culture is obsessed with the concept of ‘the plan’. And even for those who ‘approved’ of what I was doing, I would get questions like;

When are you planning to settle down?
How long can you go on living this way?
What will you do if you get sick?
When will you get your own home?
Where will that home be?
And how will you furnish it with no stuff?

Unfortunately, the only two answers I could give to these very well-meaning questions were “I don’t know” and “I’ll know when I know.”

What I could not possibly hope to explain was that ‘I don’t know’ was utterly liberating. For as long as I could remember, I had had a very specific life plan: finish high school, go to university, become a teacher, get married, have kids, and on and on and on.

Suddenly, for the very first time in my life, I could go anywhere, do anything, and be anyone I wanted.

I no longer had to follow the rules.

I could make them up as I went along.

Who knew?!?

And so, ‘I don’t know’ became my mantra, and I practised it with complete and utter elation.

Until I didn’t.

I quickly learned that living with that kind of commitment to uncertainty is as thrilling as it is terrifying, and, at times, I was sorely tempted to throw in the towel and just settle into a more predictable life.

However, thanks to all those summers sailing on Georgian Bay with my Uncle Mike, I had learned that going where the wind takes you is the only way to travel. One of the gurus I follow calls it ‘Inspired Action’. My Uncle Mike would probably have called it something like ‘capturing the wind’.

As a child, I learned from watching my Uncle Mike that we have no control over the wind; we simply adjust according to what comes (or doesn’t).

When we set out for a sail, we have a general direction. However, we have no idea how many times we will have to change tack, how long it will take us to reach our destination, or even if the wind will suddenly stop cooperating and require us to change course altogether.

Living The Sailboat Life required me to surrender control, trust that what I needed would always be provided, and lean way into ‘I don’t know’.

I will admit that this third lesson took a tremendous amount of grit and stamina to learn. But when I could loosen up and go with the flow, I quickly realized that ‘I don’t know’ is equal parts terrifying and thrilling. It leaves room for following synchronicity and intuition and always ends up landing you somewhere better than you could ever have anticipated.

THE SAILBOAT

And now, here we are, one year later (the summer of 2024), and I have thrown caution to the wind yet again and made another bold move.

Once again, I have followed Inspired Action and moved up north into my beloved parents’ basement with my darling Thomas, the aforementioned adorable golden retriever and sweet little black kitty. Thanks to Thomas’s exemplary handyman and carpentry skills, we have created a cozy little apartment that we lovingly refer to as ‘The Sailboat’.

I have no idea what we are doing here and why, but just like this past year of living The Sailboat Life, I know that the purpose will eventually reveal itself and that there will be great adventures and challenges along the way, moving me to precisely where I need to be on this magnificent life journey.

In the meantime, I am singing along to my favourite ABBA tunes and feeling the sun on my face and the wind in my hair as I head for distant and unknown shores.

And all I can think is...wouldn’t my Uncle Mike be proud?

Ready about...