|This guy doesn't care what you think.|
A trucking schedule hasn’t helped my unease. My neighbors in the boatyard were a little baffled each time I only showed up for a couple days a month. Today, all of them have launched their boats and are gone. Very few friends from home or family have seen Emma. I get uptight about visitors. In fact, on a couple occasions, I’ve responded in a bafflingly shrill way to a friend’s simple inquiry about stopping by.
Either I don’t care what anybody thinks …
… or I do.
Now, the fact is most days I’m damn proud of where I am, but I can’t always sustain that pride. Driving a truck down the highway can be a never-ending, monotonous slog. The sheer detachment from my chosen lifestyle eats away at my confidence, intentions and motivation. I’ve been away from svEmma for far too long. It makes me antsy, and especially antsy to start the work on her, just to get something done -- anything.
It’s also true that I’ve never quite had the money to do what I’m doing. I’m perpetually living on the edge which adds its own layer of anxiety. When I cashed out my 401(k) and used some of it to buy an old sailboat, I thought I was loaded. I was going to fix her up and be gone by the fall. Yet I was going broke in less than two months and that boat, the first of three, was nowhere near seaworthy yet. Since then my boat habit has been supported exclusively by earning the cash as I go along.
When I bought Emma, I spent all the money I had. Then I quit my job and moved to Florida. The funds
|Emma in Miami|
The road hasn’t completely distracted me though. I have made many decisions that need only be implemented; rigging, sails, wiring, lighting, layout, plumbing, upholstery etc. Even though poor Emma looks a lot like she did last July when the travelift set her down out back at Riverside Marina, I’ve been acquiring parts and supplies too. Diesel fuel tanks are in place, but need to be strapped down. My good ol’ 50 horsepower Perkins diesel will be the first big project; it only waits to be installed. The cockpit is removed for all the engine related tasks. I also already have thru-hulls, hose, fittings and a sea strainer to hook up the engine’s cooling system. I have a 3 burner propane stove with an oven to install in the galley. Part of the main salon ceiling is already removed to facilitate rewiring. A composting toilet is in place but needs to be permanently installed.
Now some may think that was uncouth, even melodramatic. Others may think I’m just using the word for shock value, or that I’m acting out due to some past trouble. I submit that the humble f-bomb is
I am human. I can feel emotional jolts in daily life. It’s not that I don’t feel anything. The fact is, however, that there is nothing outside of myself and what I want to accomplish that affects my daily life. No one else has a vote. It would not matter if my boat burned down where she stands; or if I launched her and she sunk; or if I only got a few hundred miles from Fort Pierce and lost her in a storm. As long as I am still alive, I would simply go back to work for a time and find another boat. This is it. This is the plan. Nothing else matters. No other fucks are given.
I know I have the capacities and the stamina to accomplish what I aim to do. However, because I am doing this right now, because this is my plan -- I am self contained and self actualized. There doesn’t ever have to be anything other than this right here. I am a happy man. Full stop.
Now I have to go sit somewhere and consider if the reason it took me eight days to get this post up was just my schedule or if I was worried what you would think. Fuck.
The first week of October will be my last on the road for a while; perhaps for good. I’ll be working on Emma full time for a few months. My complete focus will be on getting her prepped and launched. I haven’t ruled out a part time job so that I don’t spend boat money on food, but we’ll see. Emma will finally be my major priority.