Revival

Yesterday I got a letter from someone who read my last entry in February and it resonated with events in her life and the emotional challenge of sorting through those parts of her father's life that (as she so succinctly said) "can be documented in print, image and object."

I haven't written since that last entry. Partly since it is a challenge to me to sustain regular habits. But also partly because I questioned the process of navel contemplation in public. And that is to say that I doubted whether my writings could have any relevance to anyone else. It is a nice reminder that writing does matter. It always matters. Maybe not to many, but to someone out there. And then to that person all the more.

I should know this. I was, after all, a journalist for 15 years. But in that case, my writing was about others and not myself. Turning the spot light on one's self is less comfortable, but ultimately no different a news story.

And so, I will attempt more regular posts again. Most importantly, it comes down to this: For me, writing sharpens my focus on life. It is good practice for me. A bit like meditating or sitting: Doing this every day makes me more aware of my everyday. I go through the day wondering: Is this little event what I will write about? Or maybe the interaction with the check-out clerk. Or maybe the unexpected view of blue Lake Champlain through the pink budding apple trees and yellow forsythia.

These days most of my time is consumed with preparing for living aboard my sailboat. This is a lifestyle change that I have been planning for almost four years now. Or, more accurately, it is something I thought I would begin four years ago. But such significant lifestyle changes require more time than you originally think.

Finally, it is time.

I am making last minute repairs and improvements to my boat. For the past couple of days, I have been replacing decrepit hoses to my water tank. And over the past few weeks, every time I go down to the boatyard, I bring another load of things that need to be stowed. Tools, clothes, navigation equipment, kitchen gadgets, organizing bins, books.

Let's stick with the books for a moment. After I got done with the books on weather, navigation, engine repair, cruising guides, I had about 50 lbs of books. There is limited room on a boat, and I hadn't even begun to pick out "books to read." So it became that old game question: If you were stranded on a desert island and could only bring five books, which ones would you bring?

I picked a few sailing narratives. But I think I will also stow a poetry book or two. My favorite poet is Wallace Stevens. But I might have to add Brecht or Pound, or an anthology to broaden my perspective.

This new lifestyle will look something like this: Sail my boat out of Lake Champlain, through the locks to the Hudson. South on Hudson, around Manhattan out to Long Island Sound and up the coast and islands to Maine.

I intend to spend about two weeks aboard, then park the boat somewhere and return to Burlington, Vermont for a week or so to spend time with my daughter and check on my building which I rent out to commercial tenants.

A shuttle lifestyle.

If it works, I may continue for the winter, taking the boat south. But in this new lifestyle, the end of summer is too far off to make any plans.

I have written three quarters of a book on this transition from the safe, steady and traditional life of 9-5, mowing lawn, plugged in entertainment to the life of exploration and simplicity. The books follows my transition, but also examines what has motivated others to throw off the safety of expectations and voyage.

I won't be able to write the last couple of chapters until I make the final step this summer and cast off.

So, this blog is good warm up to capturing my thoughts and feelings as I move through that process.

Projected cast off: Last week of June.