A Chilly Wind

The weather is changing; fall is here, and winter not far behind. The year is drawing to a close. I will turn 56 on December 26, only two months from now -- strictly speaking, that will mark the end of my Route 55 journey. Ten months into it, what have I learned?

The time has raced by much more quickly than I could ever have imagined. I guess that means I've learned what it's like to relax and just let things happen as they will......I certainly haven't tried to choreograph this year. I've simply looked to see where a door was opening and walked inside. Everything felt pretty temporary, which also meant that nothing felt overly unbearable. "This, too, will pass" applied to any inconvenience or unpleasantness I encountered. Nothing was permanent, after all.

I learned that I love being at home and focusing on my own little world. Having left the corporate nest, I can look back now and see how stifling it often was. I can let myself realize how much I chafed under the daily grind and how deeply I longed for freedom from responsibility and deadlines. I vividly remember one day in early spring when I brazenly spent 10 whole minutes doing nothing more productive than watching a bee wash itself in our bird bath. I was having a great time just sitting in the mild April sunshine observing an insect diligently scrub itself. I found it as (or more) worthwhile a use of time than toiling in the executive office ranks. Was this an acquisition of wisdom or a time-out from adulthood? I don't know, but I felt in such harmony with my environment that I treasure the memory as an example of what it's like to "just be".

I have learned, too, that I find other people continually interesting and poignant and rewarding and frustrating and unknowable and yet akin to myself. I have spent most of this year in the company of strangers, and I have discovered that I am a good observer. I have watched without judgement. I can describe what I see, but more often I am pulled by a need to express, in poetry or in photos, the emotional currents I feel surrounding these new people. I look at the tableaux they present and find them sometimes heartbreaking, sometimes amusing, always informative. People just living their lives, with me as an onlooker for a slice of it. They cannot imagine how much I can see, and it's better that way.

Being in near-constant close proximity to my spouse for the past ten months means I have come to understand more about the landscape of my marriage. It's felt like being in a lab experiment; we've spent nearly every hour of this year together. It's good to find that we still have a lot of fun together; we can share laughter and silence in equal contentment. It's scary to discover that we still have black moments too, times which rip me like a wild animal's cruel claws. Although these are few, I have learned that I hate and fear them. I think he does too; I have noticed that we both keep a wary eye out for those dangerous moments now. We no longer flirt with the temptation to stir things up just for the drama of it. So in the end, I can say I like being with my husband nearly all of the time, I have finally accepted the reality that it's impossible to like being with anyone else more than that, and I feel lucky to have reached this point.

I have not yet determined what I want to do next in my work life. As the chilly winds of winter approach, blowing away the comfortable sunny days of boat season, it's necessary for me to decide about that. I am less reluctant now than I was ten months ago to deal with this step. I am beginning to have some thoughts, at last, about what I might want to do. But I have two more months to go in this Route 55 journey -- there are signposts yet ahead.

Role Call

For the past seven months, I've mainly been living and working aboard pleasure boats, mostly motor yachts of 70' or less. My husband is a delivery captain, and since my departure from corporate America at the start of this year I've been coming along as a sort of first mate and deckhand. In that role, I was to help navigate, stand watch, occasionally take a turn at the helm, routinely handle lines, and such, while my husband would formally shoulder the full range of marine delivery responsibilities. Incidentally, he's the one getting paid; we decided not to bill the clients for me. The idea was mainly for me to learn and enjoy sharing my husband's trips on the generally beautiful coastal waters and bays he works.

The two of us expected that we'd be doing a series of deliveries unaccompanied by owners, which appealed to me because of the privacy and schedule flexibility that would give us. I wouldn't have an audience for my fledgling attempts at piloting and docking. We'd also get to become acquainted with new ports and cruising waters while on somebody else's boat and payroll. We'd have the run of the boat, rather than being crammed into small crew's quarters. I'd be able to see that my husband was getting enough rest, eating well, and staying safe. Under those circumstances, it sounded pretty good, and I felt my just compensation would be in the form of travel, fun with my husband, and improved boating savvy.

Well, that's what we thought last April when we began with a Bahamas-to-Florida delivery. However, since then, nearly all our jobs have been with owners present, even though the vessels aren't really so large that they need a crew to operate. (It turns out that insurance companies often require relatively inexperienced owners to cruise only with a licensed captain aboard.) And with owners, their family, and friends on board, my original role quickly expanded to include a mix of housekeeper, laundress, cook, stewardess, photographer, and companion tasks. Somehow I wound up being the Boat Mom on top of being the First Mate.

What's a Boat Mom? Well, I'm a pleaser and a caregiver, so in my case it means that I am constantly attuned to everyone else's needs and try to anticipate what others will want even before they are conscious of those desires. Failing that, I try to foresee contingencies and have the necessary items on hand. I strive to be a soothing, encouraging, unflappable presence in order to help our clients feel relaxed and safe no matter what my real assessment of the weather or equipment situation is.

What does a Boat Mom do? Basically what any Mom does. I practice Mom Magic to help keep the floating home front peaceful and running smoothly. I look out for the best interests of the group. I monitor the yacht for breakables to stow, dishes to wash, trash to empty, spills to prevent or clean up, doors and portholes to secure properly, and clients to gently steer away from dangerously exposed portions of the yacht while underway. When needed, I cook, I serve, I shop, I clean, I do laundry, I walk dogs, usually without complaint. I pretend not to hear things best left alone, and I scrupulously avoid any show of favoritism. All the while, I try to maintain an air of dignity and competence.

By the way, since we stuck to the initial decision not to charge for me, this meant that I was essentially unpaid domestic help in addition to being unpaid marine staff. My workload grew, while my compensatory relaxation time shrank, and I slept in a narrow bunk bed instead of on a comfortable queen mattress. The deal wasn't looking quite so good, even though most of our clients and their guests were enjoyable and interesting and they wanted us to take them places we wanted to go too. Living in such close quarters for a week or two at a time with strangers is always a gamble anyway; I felt grateful that we were lucky more often than not. The few exceptions sure taught me some valuable lessons about how not to treat other people.

Unfortunately, I did struggle mightily to learn what my husband the Captain expected his First Mate to do and to meet his performance standards. This was much more difficult than mastering the Boat Mom role. Being a pretty green yachtie myself, I am no better than a C-Grade mate and dockhand yet, and truth to tell, my husband is a startlingly harsh taskmaster with a scary lack of patience and a habit of pulling rank. Sometimes I think his leadership motto is "the flogging will cease when morale improves". Because of my strong need to please and to feel appreciated, this treatment hurts badly. Frankly there were a few episodes so unpleasant that I wanted nothing more than to quit. A woman with more spunk and fire would probably have slapped his face and stalked off the boat to the nearest Ritz-Carlton without a backward glance, but how do I resign as First Mate while remaining as Life Mate?

It's a most unwelcome dilemma for a personality like mine. Yet I think that my Route 55 journey has brought me to this place for the express purpose of forcing me to resolve it. At the next 'role call', what will I answer?