about being on the otherside of the conversation: the greatest things ever said to me by my friends were the things that proved their love for me beyond any doubt. however, these things said, these statements of love, have taken a curious form.
they took the risk of alienating or offending me.

“no you don’t.” – S.M., after i told her i loved her.
“stop trying so hard” – C.C., when i felt i was finally making an effort
“nobody wants to read that crap” – J.H., when i read her my melancholy poetry
there’s more; they’ll come to mind later, away from the computer…

it takes a great friend indeed to call you out when you’re too big fer yer britches. they never said these things because i was being offensive, or because they thought they were better or more correct than me. they said them out of love.
i once thought that this was a common way to communicate, and that all friends could give and take this way. i was wrong.
again, my true friends have proved uncommon…

i can say anything to my true friends. they expect me to say anything. they’d probably be a little disappointed if i didn’t.
they don’t have anything special in mind when they come to communicate with me. they never get offended when i speak the way i think. they seldom ask me (verbally or otherwise) to supply them with the answer they expect or anticipate. they appreciate my viewpoints, even when they don’t agree with theirs. they never expect me to give “the right answer”.
they are all very different people from one another, a whole bunch of individuals, but they all share an uncommon sense of tolerance, patience, and acceptance.
i think i was blessed to come from a small town full of such people. i used to think such friends were common in world; i was wrong. they’re the most uncommon people in the world, and i treasure both them and their friendship.

Scott here at the yard things that i “have to accept the way things are here”, ie:, a whole heap of soul-less rich white WASPish types with equally white boats. Yes, the Caribbean is certianly the land of excess, at least for those who can afford it! i certainly can’t. Afford it, that is. Moreover, i can’t stand the way people seem to accept that everything is for sale, particularly respect and acceptance. What the fuck am i doing here?

(more…)

Really, i’m here for the flipside of all this misery; i’m in it for the money. The money and the boats. Even then, i’m really starting to question that rationale. What would i be doing if i had a little extra money and a boat all my own? What more than that had i in mind anyways?
i mean, look at my life right now: i work at a job i love, which brings me fresh challenges and learning opportunities every day. My boss is great, my coworker is great, and the hours are utterly flexible. At lunch and at night i walk back to my clean, air-conditioned apartment to lounge, read sailing books/magazines, and never have to share the remote. Last weekend, i spent one afternoon in a borrowed dingy snorkeling exploring other islands. On Sunday, i made $200 (tips!) sailing and snorkeling on a friend’s boat.
Really, this oughtta be my perfect life. Most people who know me would have to agree that i should be happy as a pig in shit right now. If i had that extra money and that boat, what else would i be doing? Maybe just the same things, but in different places… Ultimately, i can’t see it being all the fulfilling. Robin, James, Paul, Val, and the others are at a weird place in their own lives here; they’ve sailed everywhere, made good money, and have all generally resigned themselves to slowly growing into the landscape here. Their boats are all sold, sunk, or on the hard. Looking at my own “goals”, be it the bus, or the boat, i seem to just be looking for a way to grow into the landscape myself.
i need to create a new direction. i know that close relationships are important to me, and i still want to find that one partner that can actually commit. Synergy is an amazing thing; in a partnership, be it friends or lovers, we all can find ourselves doing things we never could before; two people working together can always do more than two people working apart.
Other than that, i believe that i need to be making some difference in the world. i need to be helping someone or something become greater. i want to teach and inspire. Over the past 5-6 years, i’ve been trying to live my life as an example of choice. i wanted to be able to prove both to myself and to others that we always have a choice, and that alternatives are always available to us if we open ourselves to them. i think i’ve served well as an advocate for alternative approaches, but i seem to have done so without ever choosing an approach of my own. My lifestyle to date seems to have been less the product of such choices, but more of a vehicle for never having to make any.
Kim was a the one choice i never regretted. i committed to that course, that relationship, without reservation. But what was i committing to her? Not much, it seems. i said, “Take all of me! Take my whole life!”.
There was nothing to take, nothing to accept, and nothing really to give. In the end, she decided it for me; she was getting nothing, accepting nothing, for i really had nothing to give except the promise of an unrealized dream. Even the dream was corrupt.
So, it’s a fine tme to start over. Where shall i start from? Why, right here, of course. In a land of white boats, white money, of burnouts and booze, but still a land of possibilities and profits.
For now, all i lack is a star to steer by…

Out on Sunday night past, deatin’, drinkin’, and talkin’ with the boys. Talk came round to my place as a die-hard traditionalist in a land of plastic boats.
The point that precipitated the whole debate was the arrival in Soper’s Hole of the classic 1949 72′ Sparkman & Stevens Yawl Bolero. Coming into West End aboard Kuralu on Sunday last, Robin and i agreed that Bolero was a fine yacht indeed, from the golden age of yachting, but we both winced to see the hydraulic furler at her bows. Sure, Kuralu herself is no traditional boat, but Robin is a bit of a traditionalist himself, having sailed a 100 year old oyster smack for years, including across the Atlantic.
Now, i have no qualms with those who choose a modern boat with modern trappings. However, seeing a lovely old beauty like Bolero sporting a most modern hydralic furler is horrid. It’s like completing a painstaking restoration of a rare (in this case, one-of-a-kind) vintage car, complete to the last detail, then shoe-horning a modern engine into the engine bay. The arguement might be made that boats like Bolero were cutting-edge stuff in their day, and throughout their working liveshave been appropriately upgraded to reflect that. Still, i hold that something vital, even spiritual, is violated when a classic is brought up to such modern standards.
The counter to this usually is, “So, where does is stop? Do we all have to go back to the most primitive of means to fulfill your ‘spiritual’ perogative?”
Well, no, not really. Just honour the classics. Honour the spirit of those crews who set to sea, trading, racing, fishing, or just cruising, without the powered winches, the hydraulic furlers. If you want a classic boat, restore a classic boat, fully and properly. While you’re at it, train a classic crew to go with it. If you want modern conveniences on a large double-handed vessel, buy a Beowulf. If you’d rather have a boat that embodies the grace and beauty of a classic design, but still have all the modern goodies, build a custom “Spirit of Tradition” boat.
My favourite boats are those from the mid-late forties. Winches were in, but block & tackles weren’t yet out. Not everything was made of wood, but bronze had yet to be replaced by stainless steel. In short, the technology of sailing had evolved to the point where things were getting simpler instead of just getting easier.