The Nesting Nomad

So, you have romantic notions about chucking it all, buying a boat and sailing off into the sunset? Me too. It has been some twenty years since I taught myself to sail and began nurturing the dream. Seven years ago, I sold all of my earthly possessions and moved aboard my boat, and it's been three years since I quit my job to become a full-time, card-carrying cruiser. So, how did it feel to shift from life in a small university town to the life of a nomad aboard a boat?

As a woman who came of age in the sixties, I chomped at the bit to be free of the constraints of the traditional role I grew up expecting to assume. In the seventies, I took charge of my life, my children, my education, and my career, and, in the eighties, I enjoyed independence and mobility in a "man's world". Like most women of my generation, I did not reject my role as chief nest builder when I assumed the role as breadwinner; I simply balanced both acts with incredible energy and determination. My identity was secure, and my success unquestioned. Then, in the nineties, children leaving the nest and career at its apex, I turned my back on it all to take on a new challenge: I would sail around the world, or at least sail to somewhere else in the world.

Once the decision was made, it was easy to de-thing, to tear apart the nest and sell or give away everything that didn't fit on the boat. I never looked back. And when the time came, it was actually very easy to quit my job, cut the umbilical and throw off the dock lines. I was so busy with the drama of resigning, going to all of the farewell parties, setting up communications paths with our families, and provisioning the boat for our first leg that I didn't give much thought to the fact that I wouldn't be boss, or mom, or Dr. Rice to anyone. My identity was intact; I would just be creating a nomadic version of me.

Before I go on, let me introduce John. When we met, both John and I were living aboard our separate boats, but we shared the dream. Now, he is my companion, life partner, best friend, cruising mate and skipper. He is also the consummate boatwright-there isn't a detail or a system on our schooner that he can't expertly maintain, rework (if need be) or fix when and wherever necessary. OK-back to my story.

As the newness of being underway waned, I saw that I had very few skills to bring to the cruising table. Many jobs aboard the boat require expertise and intuitive understanding of mechanics and electronics that are developed over a lifetime, and all the rest seem to require massive amounts of upper body strength. Moreover, handling a 50-foot schooner under power bore no resemblance to tacking a 21-foot day sailor out of the Dinner Key Harbor, the most demanding boat handling I had ever done. I wondered why I ever thought I could do this alone! The few practical things that I felt equipped to do other than galley duty, I did at a rudimentary level, seeking John's approval at every step.

Every morning I sat in the head and practiced tying half hitches and bowlines (the rabbit comes out of the hole, around the tree and back into the hole). Of course, the only way I could repeat the lesson was in the head with the bitter end slung around the pump handle. The thought of helping to dock the boat where both knots and courage were needed sent my heart into palpitations and my stomach into my throat. Even steering the boat in the waterway, a simple task akin to driving a car (so I thought), proved more stressful than I could have imagined. Can you believe that you not only have to look ahead to see where you're going, but you have to keep checking your wake to see where you've been!

So where was the me in all of this? I mean, how did these mundane activities fit the fantasy I had nurtured all these years? In my day dreams, I did still harbor a fading image of me, twenty years younger (of course), at the helm, wind dancing in my hair, shouting 'land ho!' or 'coming about!' or other such bits of classical lingo. Someone may even have said, 'aye aye, skip!' I, the adventurer, in charge of my ship and my destiny!

When the dreaming was over, there were jobs to be done and I had to start at square one-evaluate my strengths and face my limitations. We all know that at sea there is only one captain, and we know that a captain must be knowledgeable and experienced in every aspect of sailing, boat handling, and boat systems (that would be John). A captain needs crew to follow orders (who, me?) during passages and to share the work of preparing the boat for passage. So, you don't see the problem?

Let me explain. A woman who has been in charge for thirty years and who suddenly finds herself in a wholly subordinate role, a novice in all arenas, is facing a full-blown identity crisis. I was a control freak stripped of things to control. How could I be in charge of things I couldn't do or didn't know, and why would I even want to be? To make matters worse, I had the galley, the provisions and the cabin in my domain, but remember, I gave up that role thirty years ago and didn't relish having it back. At times, I felt that I had taken a giant step back into the pre-feminist dark ages.

It was clear to me that if we were to have a successful partnership as a cruising couple and enjoy our lives on the sea, I was going to have to deal with this dilemma. After all, John had his jobs down pat-he was born knowing boats-systems and handling. It was I who was feeling like deck fluff.

I re-examined my aversion to assuming the traditional female role, and realized that taking responsibility for the cooking and cleaning was not the issue; doing nothing else of importance was the issue. I also had to remind myself that providing sustenance and the comfort of home are traditionally undervalued, but in this nomadic life, this may be the most important thing we do for each other. Once I accepted the notion that I would not be (normally) hoisting the mainsail (gaff rig with traditional block and tackle), or hauling anchor (hand-over-hand), I identified some boat jobs that I could do and went for it.

I tackled the weather prediction and navigation tasks with a vengeance, all things I could learn from books and none of which required ungodly physical strength. For the first time, I saw uses for the well-developed computer skills that I brought to the partnership. Soon, John and I were actually collaborating-I was bringing knowledge and much needed expertise to the table, and I still had much to learn.

Nowadays, I not only tie a mean bowline, but I've branched out into decorative knot work, a truly appropriate art for the traditional schooner sailor! I've also discovered what many cruisers already knew: most of our cruising time is spent on anchor. That means we're living our lives on some island in paradise, making new friends and acquiring new tastes in food, music and politics, in which arena I am clearly the ship's expert.