Transition

Someday I may want to know what it was like making the transition from one way of life to another. 

Today is Friday, my day off, so I have a moment to write this shit down. Firstly, when I am writing, it always feels like I have a moment and not a whole lot more time than that. So yes, life is rushed.  That said, for the first time in as long as I can remember, both my kids are happy. This means that life is rushed, but not incredibly stressful. The rush stems mainly from two sources. One source is the ‘work-life balance’ thing.  We live in two places because we want to play on our boat, but we still need things in our apartment for work (fancier clothes, freezer, laundry). We also need to maintain our apartment, because if we don’t, Fred makes a mess. We don’t know what Fred looks like, but he lives in the ceiling above our shower and he likes to scratch often. This week, he scratched a hole right through the ceiling and scattered insulation all over the shower – a big mess.  I’m betting that Fred is furry. Regardless, we spend a lot of time driving to the apartment, to the boat, and to work. We forget stuff in all three places, which often results in an extra trip. Today’s missing item is our quick-dry towels, one green, and one gray. I checked the boat, the car, and the apartment. No towels. Could they be at work? Seems too weird to be true. Why would my bath towel be at work? This brings me to the work part of the balance.  We have relatively big, meaningful jobs. People depend on us. We need to be on time, we need to be present, smart and professional. Sometimes we need to rush. In fact, sometimes at work, I need to run!

The second source of the rush is the ‘we’re almost fifty, are we running out of time?’ thing.  The fact is we are young, but not all facts validate this. Disturbingly, some facts prove otherwise.  Therefore, there is pressure to live each day to the fullest. It turns out that it’s hard to live each day to the fullest if you don’t rush a little.  Let me give you an example of a really great day this week.

I woke up at 6 am, excited because I had planned to go for a paddle instead of a run.  The water was perfectly still, and the light was a soft yellowy blue, which made all the greenery look even more green.  When I rounded the bend into the bog, I felt transported to a marshland somewhere very far from New York. Birds, grasses, clams and trickling current orchestrated the natural symphony.  When I got back to the boat, I showered, dressed for work, put on my makeup and hopped in the dinghy. Only it wasn’t really a hop, because I tripped on my skirt while going up the companionway.  I could not find my shoes in the lazarette, so I had to wear sneakers with my work outfit. It was more like a rock scramble than a hop, and the exertion melted my make-up in sweat. Finally, I started to motor to shore, but I forgot my car keys and we had to go back to get them. We left again, but we forgot to close the hatches and we had to go back. We left again, but we forgot to move the mooring ropes and we had to go back.  We laughed at ourselves like we always do in the morning when we go to work in the dinghy. Michael looks funny in his dress shirt and slacks perched atop the inflatable starboard side and I’m sure he thinks the same of me on the port. Traffic, coffee, breakfast, morning session. Fever, sore throat, rash, rash, fever, school physical, wetting the bed, ear infection. Tupperware lunch, then grocery shopping. Cold food into the office fridge. It’s rushed.  Afternoon session. Birth control, fever, rash, ear infection, strep throat, poison ivy, coxsackie, fracture, vaccines, sneak a break to buy girlfriends fiftieth birthday gift online, fever, nutrition visit, rash. In car on way to boat. It’s raining. Forgot groceries in office fridge. Turn back to work, grab food, drive to boat. It stopped raining, but dinghy full of water. Michael is already bailing in his dress shirt and slacks, which are now wet woolens. It’s late and we’re tired, but the sound of a neighbor’s halyard clanking against the mast slows everything down. I stop rushing.  I crack a beer for Michael. I wonder if the kids had a good day. The fish are jumping. Frank Sinatra is singing “summer wind,” and there actually is a summer wind. We talk about the Bahamas, man overboard drills, fixing the centerboard pully, the new ‘poop-o-meter’ that tells us when the head tank is full, and so on. It doesn’t feel like a sacrifice. Quite the contrary, it feels like a luxury. A luxury that requires a lot of effort.

Transitioning from one way of life to another is inconvenient and disorganized. It requires motivation, flexibility, a sense of adventure, a strong desire to learn, and the strength not to get discouraged.  However, those things are all secondary to extreme patience and the ability to laugh at your hairstyle.