sailing

Once again, we have set out to sea in a ferry.

This never quite seems like a good idea to me, despite the fact that we're sailing on the smoothest seas I've ever seen. Honestly, there are lots of times in the past two months alone that we've been moving more in port than we are right now. The thing is, there's no way for me to know how it's going to go for me over the next five days or so. This is my fourth sail, and on the first one I was so sick that the HoJ (who was, at the time, just the Boyfriend of Joy, but showed real promise with what I'm about to tell you) would make me Ramen noodles just so I had something soft to throw up. I think they could totally use that in an ad campaign. Ramen: Something Soft to Spew When You Sail. The second time was like a dream. Smooth seas, perfect weather, and wildlife every day. Seriously, at one point the officer on the bridge came over the intercom to announce, Dolphins, basically ... everywhere. The third sail was a mixed bag. I threw up for the first half and felt mildy human for the second, so statistically speaking, this could go either way.

I'm not quite steady enough to call myself a good sailor, especially when just the thought of pulling away from the dock makes me breathe deep and eat one last big meal rather than jump for joy. But if I make it through this one in style, I might start to feel a little more confident about my sea legs.

There's one thing that I know will work for me no matter what, and as soon as they made the announcement that the bow was open I grabbed a chair and headed outside. Out there, with the whole ocean spread out in front of me and the breeze cool in my face, I never feel sick. One by one people make their way down to Deck Three, all the way forward, and then back up to the salty air and together we watch the sun set and the moon rise. If we're lucky (like tonight) we see dolphins and flying fish and nearly-transparent jellyfish billowing alongside us. Someone brings a guitar and we worship together and there's this sense of community that's somehow different from the rest of the year.

For some reason, we are closer when we sail. This morning before we departed Jenn put words to the feeling. It's like we're one big family getting ready to go on a trip together. For as long as we're on the water, this feeling of family is so much stronger than other times, somehow. We greet each other with sincere questions about our friends' health and we make pilgrimages around the ship to deliver food and ginger biscuits to those who can't get out of bed. We sit together out on the bow, and for the only time in the year it's just us. Just crew, no visitors or day volunteers or tour groups or food delivery men. The ship is ours, and we revel in it for these few, sacred days.

I'm sitting cozy in my bed right now. The moon is high outside my window (although porthole, I suppose, would be the more nautical term), and the water rushing past is shot through with silver. At least for tonight, I love sailing.