Lessons

Put the dinghy together before throwing it overboard. (So that’s what ‘nested pram’ means! Three hours, use of the hoist, and many cuts and bruises later…)

Swivel the grill inside the stern pulpit (the back of the boat) before leaving the dock so it doesn’t catch on your neighbor’s lifelines (horizontal cables running the length of the boat). (But the Ellie Mae is unharmed.)

Untie the windmill and install the flexible solar panels before the fridge runs the battery down. (Luckily, I bought ice, and — dang! — the sun and wind pumped us back up.)

“No mistake,” heard Byron Katie when someone greeted her with “Namaste.” I love that. 

I was raised in Los Angeles, but it wasn’t until I left that I learned the full extent of the kindness and generosity of humans. This morning I docked Habibi for the first time, despite extreme anxiety. Before breakfast, my nose insisted that I pull up the floorboards near the head, and it was suddenly imperative that the holding tank (with copious feces and urine) get pumped out; it was leaking inside the boat. 

The brain thought through the steps needed: secure anything that will fall, batten the hatches, tie fenders (cushions) along the starboard side, prepare lines for docking in the marina, start the engine, untie the mooring lines and coil them on deck (far from the propeller). And away we go! Slowly.

I practiced stopping several times before entering the channel. Despite catastrophic horror stories, (You’re going to crash into the jetty. You’ll run aground on the beach.) I smoothly docked Habibi! No collisions, no harm, no foul. No mistake.

However, Anxiety is having a field day with this new lifestyle. (You’ll never sail this boat. You will die of heatstroke. The bottom paint is peeling, you’re going to sink.) But when I remember to breathe and come back to Calm, my brain usually figures out solutions. 

The other thing to remember is that I can ask for help. And sure enough, after using the correct radio transceiver, “This is Habibi, asking for help at the fuel dock,” Francisco and Mario arrive to catch the docklines, and snug us close. My angels. I hug them hard on wobbly legs. And as I’m leaving the marina? Three guys in an inflatable motor up and ask if I need help tying to a mooring ball. “Yes!” I tell these other angels, so they follow me out and cheer when I am secure.

No one demeaned my lack of experience. I don’t have to know everything, or pretend I’m fine. The only one belittling me is me.  

The biggest lesson, over and over again, is to trust myself. A little voice told me to pump out last week. Unfortunately, I was unable to listen. The Thinking had a grip on me again with its familiar messages: You’re too stupid to sail, surf, swim distance, star in a play, roll from standing, write for the Legislature, fly a plane, tow a trailer, buy a boat, publish. 

No, I’m not. Lesson #1. No mistake.