A reflection from my time aboard De La Mer (French, for “Of The Sea”).
I think I’m not built for sailing. It’s beautiful – moonlit stillness and silence – but I’m not ready for that yet. I’m still too attached to meeting people on street corners to embark on a life without them. My mind is continually circling around the people I can’t share the experience with. It’s like a vacation that lasts too long; I can’t wait to get back on land so I can get my life moving again.
Some people revel in stillness, in the fluidity of time when life is set to the pace of the sun and rolling waves. It’s too isolated for me. I feel harnessed, tied-down to only this (which is lovely. There are moments when the sun turns the sky orange as it plunges into the water like heated metal being forged by a smith…) but this could never be my life.
It’s not my romance*.
I close my eyes and dream of filling a house with food, music and friends.
I think, perhaps, I am just a bit too American for a life at sea. I am not the child of an island. I think perhaps my heart was not truly open to be taken by the ocean because it has already been claimed by changing skies and the open road.
In the old television mini-series Dinotopia, there was a sorting ceremony of sorts. People were told their native element and given jobs.
I am not of the sea.
I may yet be of tidal flats or coastline, but even then, it is the wind as much as the crashing surf that I am drawn to.
For now, I am left only with light to follow. At this point, whether that light is a follow-spot, the sun or some other flame, I have yet to find out.
And so: Onwards!
* this is not to say, however, that the subject cannot be revisited; “Of The Sea” feels similar but distinctly different to “Of The Caribbean”, for example. 😉