You have to go there to come back...

I've been in a fairly introspective mood lately, and though I haven't written on the blog lately, it doesn't mean that I haven't been writing. No, I'm done with comps, so I'm not writing on that, and although my research is coming along really well, I'm not writing manuscripts at the moment, either. With a little inspiration from the recent finishing of the inaugural Indian Ocean Rowing Race and gentle nudging from Tim (thanks!), I've finally gotten back to writing my ocean rowing book.

As Jimmy Buffett put it as he was writing about his fifty years of adventuring: "That to me is the way any good romantic would look at his life: Live it first, then write it down before you go." That's the way I've looked at it for awhile, too, and to put it simply, I've been too busy living my adventures to find time for writing them. I've had some pretty great adventures in the last few months, and maybe someday I'll start writing about those again :). But, I've put it off the book long enough now, and I owe it to the story to get it down on paper.

It's a mammoth task, but one that I enjoy immensely. So immensely that I sometimes get carried away while I am writing and forget that I really am on land (with the responsibilities that come with it) and not out in the middle of the ocean, surfing waves and dodging squalls. I have had to set timers in order remind myself of experiments (which I have never had to do before), as time flies by with my fingers flying on the keys, trying to convey the brilliant intensity of an ocean sunrise or the absolute calm that is experienced during a peaceful night with a million stars cradling you in their pinpoints of light.

It's amazing to go back and relive all those memories, and getting back to the book is truly good for my soul. In doing it, I remember exactly why we went out there in the first place. Life on land is inevitably hectic and complicated, no matter how chill you are or how much you try to simplify (as Sarah Outen is currently figuring out as she tries to become reacquainted with society - it's not easy!). Life on the water may be hard, but it is pure... more pure than could ever be experienced on land, and it is that purity that I really miss and reconnect with as I write again. It is infectious and addictive, and I feel that I could write about it and tell stories about it for the rest of my life, if only to relive those most inspiring days again. If I can manage to illustrate just a little bit of how pure and simple life can be, then I will be happy with the outcome of the book.

I had not been out to the Fire recently, and after writing so much, I felt that I owed her some quality time, so I headed out to just be with her on Monday night. We both definitely needed it. I didn't bring tools to work on her or friends to show her off. I just wanted to be with her. I sat there on the bow and stared at my reflection in the cabin hatch in the waning evening. I held on to her gunwales, fingering the rough patches of repaired plywood and feeling the strength of her hull, remembering all of the times that we have shared together through the years. I thought of the hectic months of training, the humorous road trips, the frustrating days lashed to a sea anchor, the refreshing rain squalls, the frightening monster waves, and the finality of defeat in our capsize. I've spent more time with her than most of my friends (with the exception of Kohl, of course), and she is as much a part of me as any person in my life. I really do love her unconditionally, and it was good for both of us to be together. As the twilight faded, I stepped into the cabin and lay down, staring at the quotes Kohl and I had written on the walls. Even sitting there in the storage lot, hundreds of miles from the nearest ocean, it still felt like home.

Short excerpt from the book so far, corresponding to Day 5 of the '05 trip:

"During my off-shift between 4 and 6, I had nothing to do but relax. I had made lunch and called Bill on my previous off-shift, and having nothing else pressing on my agenda, I crawled into the cabin and curled up on my side down the centerline of the boat, making sure not to disrupt Kohl’s strokes by offsetting the boat. All I could do was smile. Never in my life had I felt this comfort before. Everything in my life was perfect at that moment. Every detail filled me with happiness - the padded blue walls and two inch inflated sleeping mats cradling me in the tapered stern, the color of the sunlight streaming in through the rear hatch, the creak of the rudder, the rhythm of Kohl sliding down the salt-encrusted tracks, the rush of the puddles whooshing past the hull. The waves rocked the boat into a familiar swaying lullaby and I felt safe and contented, knowing that we were living our dreams. We were headed towards Antigua and making history, basking in the freedom that was ours for the taking. In the entire vast blue expanse of ocean, the cabin was cool and dry, and it felt like home."

I guess you really do have to go there to come back...