When the Going Gets Tough
We were leaving Fort Pierce. Once again guided by the weather, instead of overnighting to Key Biscayne, we'd take a shorter, 10-hr offshore jump to West Palm Beach, avoiding the incoming high winds but still inching that much closer to our Bahamian goal. The morning was rife with tension, not uncommon for offshore days. Deep water can put nerves on edge. The waves were a little bigger than what was forecasted. It seemed we were locking ourselves into an uncomfortable ride. I started asking questions. I do that. Grasping at every angle of the situation, trying to gain my grip, I can turn into an inquisitive toddler real quick. It was sharply pointed out to me that if I hadn't participated in the prep work for the offshore test we were currently on, then I needed to zip it, be helpful and save the questions for the planning phase of the next offshore quiz. Truth hurts. I'd skirted this responsibility before. One might say it has been a pattern in the past to skip over the prep work and go along for the ride. Hurt feelings weren't exactly the companion I was hoping for on this undulating, proprioceptive challenge, but who wouldn't want to spend 10 hours in complete silence, using their nausea to fuel the anger simmering below.
When we finally made it into the long inlet that is the Lake Worth runway, we had the pleasure of sharing it with every giant fishing boat racing home for dinner. We would steady ourselves from "Reely Fishy's” wake only to be immediately knocked off balance again by "Take the Bait." I could already tell this place was not my vibe. I love the quaint fishing town with a pier and local drinking hole. West Palm Beach was a drastic contrast of overstimulation. Mansion, mansion, mansion, giant yacht, giant yacht, giant yacht. It felt disgusting. How do so many people have this kind of money? I don't quote scripture often, but the eye of the needle fable seems fitting.
Patrick and I had already worked through the morning spat. The boat is a good mediator, like many other things, there simply is no space for unresolved issues. He was now sweetly trying to convince me to take a long dinghy ride to shore.Something about my feet on land helping me feel better. I didn't want to go. Didn't want to feel so out of place in a place I didn't care to know, and frankly the promise of a post motor day hot shower was calling my name. The mention of tacos got my shoes on and before I knew it I was tasting salt spray on my lips, my partially damp jeans sticking to my thighs. When will I learn, denim does not dry. With Fajita in tow, we were seated outside as always, comfortably tolerating the drizzle, but picking up our pace to gobble down our dinner before the looming downpour commenced. One beer, 5 tacos, the usual guac, queso, salsa combo and $130 later I was sure this place was not for us. We rode back to the boat in the pouring rain ready to sleep it off and get moving in the morning.
We woke up with a plan to GTFO. We'd run Fajita to shore then it'd be engines on, anchor up, peace out. Only one problem, no dinghy. It was gone, disappeared, at what time we don't know. I let the reality sink in. Not only were we stuck in this god forsaken anchorage, but now literal prisoners of the boat. Ok what's the next right thing...Radio the coast guard.
It's funny how small the sailing world is. A sweet couple we met and casually chatted with back in Oriental, NC heard us on the radio and messaged Patrick within minutes. They were serendipitously in the same anchorage, and could even see our boat. Crazy luck. We had a ride to shore and a little bit of relief.
Seems as karmic lessons tend to do, we were being hit with another reminder to slow down. Moving everyday is for the birds anyway, so I welcomed the opportunity to give the boat a much needed wipe down. We took time to nurture ourselves with movement, breath, and stillness even while zooming boats were doing their part to maintain the rockiest anchorage possible. The cabin felt like a washing machine, turned all way to deeply soiled. Unable to spend too long below deck, I took sanctuary in the sunlit cockpit and recharged my batteries with FaceTime chats from friends and family.
While we waited a couple of days to see if Tink (our dinghy) would turn up, hoping she got stuck under some dock and would be reported, Patrick was diligently scouring Facebook marketplace for other options. He found a possibility, a one-season-at-most,used dinghy, but with a higher powered engine that had potential for comfortably speeding us around. We were very much ready to seek greener pastures and since Tink had not reappeared a deal was made and the dinghy was promptly delivered to our boat. We were no longer trapped and could thankfully run poor Fajita to shore, but the engine was so heavy it took strategic planning, teamwork, and mechanical maneuvering to hoist to and from Neverland — not ideal for everyday use. I could tell Patrick was starting to feel a little defeated, nevertheless we would batten down the hatches and stow things away, planning to leave first thing the next morning.
The alarm went off and determined to take a more active approach in curbing my anxiety I decided to dig into the bag of tools that has helped in the past. Somatic exercises, which includes a really cold shower first thing in the morning. It's best to get your face wet first, it kind of shocks you past the discomfort straight into power up superhero mode. I knew it was going to be a good day because I was prepared to will it. The new dinghy gave us a couple of issues, but I kept pushing us forward,. We can do this, we can figure it out together. Just one foot in front of the other and we would put this place in our rear view.
Once we started pulling away, the winds of luck seemed to change. We timed the bridges perfectly, not hitting a pause until we had Boca Raton in sight. Our destination was a calm little lake with plenty of comforts in walking distance, a hopeful quiet respite. I was so grateful to this morning of character building, it seems there was a new lesson learned, we do choose our good days. We were building that resilience, as a good friend reminded me when the going gets tough, the tough get tougher.
As of now we are in Boca Raton still — planning on heading toward Miami on Tuesday.
