Sailing: A Love Story

It's surprising to me how many people ask if I'm really okay with going on this trip. A lot (a LOT) of people seem to think that I only agreed to go to make Jason happy, but that's not really right. I do want him to be happy, and it's true that the trip was his idea, but the conversation went like this:

Jason: I think we should sail our boat to Hawaii.

Me: Okay. When?

He didn't have to persuade me. I'm the reason our family flew through the air with the greatest of ease, went ice climbing with axes and crampons, rode bikes through Japanese rice paddies. In fact, the reason we're sailing at all is that I wanted to learn how a few years ago. I'm the one who'll be hanging from the top of the mast in the middle of the ocean if there's a problem. I may not look like much, but on the inside, beneath the curly hair and the knobby knees, I'm a beast. I'm burly and brave and tough. (Yes, I do know what those words mean.) I don't usually go around telling everyone these things (at least not until now), but Jason knows me. He certainly knows that I'm brave enough to tell him if I don't want to do something.

I love sailing. I love it even more on simpler boats than ours. I love the sound of the water rushing below the boat. I love when our boat is heeling over the water, zipping along because we've harnessed power of the wind. We've harnessed the power of the wind! That's a glorious, godlike feeling. I find charts fascinating, I think Morse code is cool, and I can't wait to compare my sextant readings to our GPS coordinates. Jason would like a bigger boat; I'd like a smaller one. If I had my way about it, we'd probably spend a couple of years sailing around the world on a homemade raft, navigating only by the stars. (We'd have to tow a barge for all of our food, but that's a separate issue.)

I'm not scared about going on this trip. I'm excited. The things that really frighten me (grumpy people, cockroaches, tardiness) aren't going to be out on the water with us. We're both moderately intelligent people and competent sailors. If something happens to Jason, I'm not going to throw my hands in the air and just drift around aimlessly until we die. I'll have a good cry, eat some chips, trim the sails, and keep going. My expectation, though, is that I'll be able to spend my shifts eating the chips, trimming the sails, and enjoying the journey.