The fine art of doing nothing

September 25th, 2018. Kemah, Texas

So, here we are...

Retired, sailed a boat from Florida to Texas. It was a wild ride sometimes, but we rose to the physical and mental challenges, prevailed, and survived. A lot of it still does not seem real. 

We are adjusting to our new, more relaxed state of mind.

The truth is, there is no such thing as doing nothing.

Because even when your body is idle, your mind is not. Even when you aren't working on your boat, you are thinking about working on your boat. 

As "Old Blue Eyes" put it,

"Regrets, I have a few, but then again, too few to mention. "

One thing I have noticed is, without all the noise of making a living...

...There's very little noise. Little by little tiny rays of light steal through the cracks under the doors I closed behind me, illuminating things that had been hiding under all the distractions of earning, and accumulating, and spending. 

Old habits die hard, if ever. And if the point was to change, why can't we change?

Can we change? And if we can't, what is the point of being the same in a different location? 

We regroup here in Texas. NeverLand provides us with a cozy shelter that still seems to be everything we need, real estate wise. I think about how much space we actually used daily in our residence and it really didn't amount to much more than this. 

What was missing wasn't space. There's a good chance what was missing either doesn't exist, or was there all along. 

But the same could be said of any explorer's quest, throughout history. 

I read, voraciously.  Not being exhausted from a stress filled day is still a novelty, so I read into the wee hours. Robert reads. We make lists. Robert watches netflix on the tablet while I happily don't have to hear TV at all. We order small things the boat needs. 

We eat, we sleep, we plan, we dream.

We will be leaving here before we know it, and return to the rigors of actually traveling on the seas. The noise, the sense of purpose and activity, will once again prevail. 

We are plotting and replotting the next leg of our journey southward, while keeping a watchful eye on mother nature. I am excited, and scared shitless at the same time, about leaving the boundaries of the United States of America. 

I tune in to the National Hurricane Center every morning to see what the latest news on tropical storms is. Every yellow or orange "X", every red swirl, tight or loose, with a name, makes me wonder if we made the right choice fighting our way over to the Clear Lake area. We watch in horror as Florence hammers so many in North and South Carolina, and leaves a wake of destruction.

We know, theoretically, that hurricane season, currents, and wind, ultimately have the last say. That's sailing 101. Much as in life, we cannot control the wind. We can only adjust the sails. 

But that's ok.

All things happen for a reason. 

We don't even have to know what it is.

Just stuff something in the crack under the door. Nobody needs to understand everything.

Do they?