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). (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 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. 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. So I cast off from the mooring ball, motored to the marina, and docked Habibi for the first time, despite extreme anxiety.

The Great Brain thought through all the steps needed: secure anything that will fall, batten the hatches, tie fenders (cushions) along the starboard side, prepare lines for docking, start the engine, untie the 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 will crash into the jetty, you’ll run aground on the beach), Habibi smoothly eased up to the fueling dock! 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, solutions usually appear. 

Also, I can ask for assistance. And sure enough, after switching to the correct radio transceiver, “This is Habibi, asking for help at the fuel dock,” Francisco and Mario arrive to catch lines 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 dinghy motor up and ask if I want help tying to a mooring ball. “Yes!” I tell these other angels, so they follow me out and cheer when I am secure.

Not one of them demeaned my lack of experience. Turns out, 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 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.