It is raining and I wait for the green light

It is raining. It never stops. I should be doing a ton of things to prepare for departure, instead I lay about, write these words and observe the rain against the green trees in the frame of the companionway.

My to do list is huge, and it grew even bigger when the belt of the electric motor broke, while I was running a test. It was a good omen.

Historically I almost always experienced a last minute mishap, a crack in the keel found just days before launching, a jib that rips few miles after weighing anchor. This time it’s a broken belt. When that happens it feels good. Better now than later. A little extra complication now, means a quieter mind underway.

In the midst of all this preparation, and the extra waiting time for the motor belt to travel my way, I also have to write. Without writing life is not the same, yet sometimes I forget about it, convinced that there are more important things to do. Writing is important, and when I don’t write everything else becomes heavier, the energy feels locked away and rotting. When words flow, venom disappear.

Departure are exciting, full of worries and expectations. I did it many times before, from different shores, on different vessels, with different crew. The only small and big difference is that now I am alone.

I accepted the arduous task of taking Tranquility and its variegated content back to the East Coast US with excitement. Sailing singlehanded has always been a dream of mine, a dream that I was happy lo leave behind when I had the fortune to sail with Kate, who made everything sweeter and more fun.

However Kate accepted a job in NYC, and that completely changed the balance and the plans. In the middle of the Chaos that this decision generated, new perspectives surfaced, scenarios left behind became once again plausible, new connections light up on the chart, dreams never dreamed before sprang out of nowhere.

The grieving pulses of what’s left undone disappear under the novel frequencies of change. The temptation of attributing a special significance to the event, to color it with tones of failure/success, right/wrong, happy/sad is strong. In reality it is what it is. It’s life and it’s necessary, a great challenge ahead that could be hard or smooth, or both. It does not matter.

In Italian Decidere means to choose. Its roots are in the Latin decīdĕre, de (from) and caedĕre (to cut), to separate, to cut away. When decision is made, everything around shifts, re-arranges, takes a new shape.

We twisted around the problem for long, analyzed it, tried to unravel it. But as the legend of Alexander the Great teaches it is often necessary a neat, simple and direct decision to tackle difficult problems. The knot that cannot be undone must be cut.

It takes courage to make a decision, to change course abruptly, to open to a new path, and this decision came from a very courageous person, a woman as they often are the bravest.

Kate initiated change when she decided to leave Panama. The decision was abrupt, painful, but necessary. It takes guts to change a world that seemed stable, to cut away branches and possibilities, and restore the flow in the Tree of Life.

I am grateful for Kate’s courage. I could not have done what she did. She went ahead alone, looking for a new beginning, even thinking about putting sailing on hold, finding time to take care of other issues in life.

She has been gone for a month now, a month where I am preparing for this big jump, looking forward to reunite in a different place, in a different time from now.

I am also waiting out this hurricane season. As I am writing, a weather disturbance over the Leeward and Virgin Islands is fighting a battle to become a tropical storm or dissipate. It’s the edge between seasons, the sweet window between potentially dangerous tropical storms and the cold fronts venturing South, before the trade winds reinforce and start to give the Caribbean Sea its dry and windy Winter character.

The time to go is soon, but not yet. I am trying to prepare Tranquility and myself the best I can for this trip. We won’t be perfect, but we will be ready.