by D. J. Green | Dec 14, 2018 | Ground Work
This post is related to the last one I wrote, more than two months ago now. It was about procrastination. Sure, I’ve been busy. Who isn’t? It went something like this: Finding the Words? I’ll Look for Them Later…. And that was about it.
If I go looking for the perfect words, then I might as well put it off. Indefinitely. I’ll never find them. I will also never be in perfect shape. Kagán is not a perfectly shiny boat. I do not have a tidily perfect library to write in. Most days, I don’t even come close to crossing everything off my list of things to do, which in a perfect world I would. Every day.
Perfection is unattainable. Pursuing it, I’ll fail every time. Procrastination is a reasonable response to seeking it; why push for ultimate failure? The problem is that not only do things not get done perfectly, they don’t get done at all. I know all this intellectually. But clearing the hurdle I set up for myself, in order to pursue excellence rather than perfection, well, that’s another matter.
I’ve been this way as long as I can remember being any way at all. I was the goodie-two-shoes of my family from the time I stepped into my first pair of shoes. And I wore out pair after pair chasing perfection; as a kid, to please my parents, which I did (so I was amply rewarded for the chase). And as an adult, to please myself. Except I’m never pleased enough. And this chase is awfully tiring.
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When I reflect on this in a deep way, I must admit that the perfectionist part of me thinks completely unreasonable things. Like I could have kept my sweet old dog, Sandy, from dying last month if I’d been a better dog mom. Even though Sandy lived well over 15 years, overcoming laryngeal paralysis, thriving because of how well cared for and loved he was. He was happily, if wobbily, walking in the desert with me just days before his system shut down and he passed peacefully at home. Can I really think that wasn’t good enough? Can I not simply be grateful for how long and healthy and happy his life was?
Here’s one that’s even harder to admit, front and center in my heart, mind, and memory these days. Twenty-one years ago yesterday, my late husband’s plane, with his body beside it, was found in the Texas hill country after a month-long search. For years, I struggled, not only with the depth of my loss, but with a belief that if I’d somehow been a better wife that he would not have died in that accident.
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Not only do those thoughts not make sense (the convoluted logic being if I was perfect, I’d be completely in control, not only of myself, but of others and every situation), frankly, they’re absurd, and incredibly egotistical.
So, I continue to steer myself away from the dead-end path of perfectionism. My step for today – to post this essay, though it is far from perfect (for one thing, there are way too many adverbs in it). But maybe, just maybe, letting go of trying to be in control of it all, whether it’s the right word choice or comma placement, or letting those I love live, and die, as they must, will be exactly what I need to live into and learn from today. And every day.
What are your hardest lessons?
by D. J. Green | Oct 2, 2018 | Finding the Words
I was going to write a post about procrastination today, but I decided to put it off.
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by D. J. Green | Sep 4, 2018 | Venus & Mars Go Sailing
She can change your life. For me, that teacher’s name is Nancy Erley.
The first time I met her was brief, just a short exchange after hearing her insightful presentation on crew communication at a sailing expo. But I never forgot her.
The next time I met her was years later. I was grieving the loss of the man I’d sailed with for eight years, and though I wanted very much to continue cruising on Kagán, I wondered if I could even maneuver her into my narrow slip, much less sail her on my own. Then Nancy spent a week with me on Kagán, and she changed my life – on my boat, certainly, and in ways I couldn’t have imagined before I lived into taking Kagán’s helm. During that week, she watched me, asked questions about the role I had played as first mate, and gently suggested that if I’d done things like set sails in gusty winds and set anchors in deep, remote anchorages with Jerry, then I could do those things, with sensible adjustments for single handing, on my own.
She knew a little something about all this, a passionate sailor, Nancy has completed two circumnavigations on her boat, Tethys. During those trips around the globe, she taught women how to cross oceans in a small boat, as they did it together. Her gift for imparting the skills and the wonder of both the physics and the art of sailing, tailored to fit each of her “learners,” has changed lives, made dreams come true. This is not hyperbole, it’s what Nancy does.
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First, we would talk through the whats and hows, and then she would assure me she’d be right there if I needed her, but I should try these things as if I was single handing. From seemingly casual conversations, she intuited what I felt I could already do, and what might stop me. She nudged me toward those lessons. Her confidence and the reassurance of her presence gave me the courage to try. And to keep trying after our week together, even though I was still afraid (especially of maneuvering under power in tight spaces with my full keel boat that doesn’t like to start turning and once she turns doesn’t like to stop). Nancy encouraged me to let go of the fear, which for sailing solo I could. It took longer, years in fact, to let go of the fear of going into new marinas, having to maneuver in unknown tight spaces. Sometimes I succeeded (nailing a tough landing feels great) and sometimes I failed (seems your ugliest landings always happen with an audience on the dock), but I never stopped trying. And that’s the key – if you keep docking, you learn how to dock in different places in varying conditions. Then one day, you realize that now you have a great deal of respect for every docking (really, there’s a lot going on when you dock a boat, but that’s another story), but not so much trepidation. That “you become what you practice” thing – it worked again.
The lessons continue, occasionally in person (thanks for those great days on Port Townsend Bay earlier this summer, Nancy!), and more frequently on my own, not only using the skills she’s taught me, but also trying to emulate the examples she’s set for me to be the skipper I aspire to be. That’s what a gifted teacher can do.
Tell me about your Nancy Erley. How has he or she changed your life?
by D. J. Green | Jul 28, 2018 | Ground Work, Venus & Mars Go Sailing
In the San Juan Islands of Washington state, there are many lovely anchorages to drop a hook. Some would say Sucia Island is one of the loveliest. Part of a three-island marine state park, it has trails, campsites, mooring buoys, and anchoring room galore. It’s also a great playground for a geologist.
The horseshoe shape of the island tells part of its geologic history; sedimentary strata, which were originally flat-lying, underwent tectonic compression shaping first a syncline (a big U-shaped fold), then further compressive forces tilted it forming what geologists call a plunging syncline, and what sailors call the big, beautiful anchorage of Echo Bay.
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But it’s the striking sculpted sandstone cliffs that draw so many to Sucia. The “carving” that looks like intricate modern art is known as honeycomb weathering, for obvious reasons. Three specific conditions are needed for this type of weathering to occur: soluble salt, as in seawater; porous rock, like the Chuckanut Sandstone which comprises most of the bedrock on Sucia Island; and alternating cycles of wetting and drying, as in tides flooding and ebbing.
The Chuckanut Formation sediments were deposited by a meandering river 50 million years ago. There were several depositional environments along the river, including braided streams, point bars, and oxbow lakes, resulting in numerous rock types within the formation – conglomerates to sandstones to siltstones.
To create the intricate weathering pattern, seawater is absorbed into the porous sandstone, then evaporation causes expanding salt crystals to wedge sand grains apart. As cavities develop, microscopic algae find a sheltered environment in which they can thrive on the walls of the cavities. The coating of algae slows weathering on the side walls, so the divots deepen, making the honeycombs more and more dramatic. Understanding how these sculpted sandstones form, makes me appreciate their beauty all the more.
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Showing signs of weathering myself, I can’t resist the metaphor of time and erosion sculpting us into more beautiful shapes than we were before.
What metaphors resonate for you?
Notes:
- To learn more about the geology of Sucia Island, there’s a short paper, “Sucia Island, The Geologic Story” by George Mustoe of Western Washington University (April 2008) that’s very informative.
- Special thanks to Judi Pringle for kayaking Sucia Island with me, where I took the pictures for this post.
by D. J. Green | Jun 29, 2018 | Venus & Mars Go Sailing
“Don’t you get bored?” a coworker on a field job asked. “Just sitting on a boat all summer?”
Clearly he had never owned or lived on a boat. There’s never nothing to do. “Just sitting” only happens at the risk of enduring substantial guilt, induced by the as-yet unaddressed items on the to do list.
Our sailboat is like a very compact house, equipped with complex electrical, plumbing, and propulsion systems. It floats in a corrosive medium (we sail the Salish Sea, which is, of course, saltwater) that is always moving, sometimes gently and sometimes not. That means there’s almost always something to fix, despite keeping up with regular maintenance. Then there’s the polishing. And decks to be swabbed. Really, that’s not merely a phrase. No, I don’t get bored.
One of the things I love about life on Kagán, is that much of the work is physical. It often has a meditative quality to it. Wax on, wax off is also not simply a phrase. A week ago, we finished varnishing the bright work (that’s nautical for wood trim). The next day, I waxed the gelcoat in the cockpit. When it rained, I reveled in seeing the droplets beading on the newly-protected teak. And as I write this, the gelcoat is gleaming in the sun. The pleasure of seeing those results is worth all the hours it took to get them. I believe if we take care of Kagán, she’ll take care of us. Keeping her beautiful is one of the ways we do that.
But it’s not all scrubbing and polishing, I’m also engaged intellectually during our summers on Kagán. I think I do more basic math here than in land-based life. I calculate tide fluctuations to determine anchor rode lengths and evaluate current directions, speeds, and timing for transiting narrow passages. There’s also the decision making involved in planning for and executing cruises of several weeks, like water use management and provisioning. And then there are the minute-to-minute judgements while under sail – what tack to take, and how to trim the sails for speed and comfort and, of course, safety.
The outcome of a job, the consequence of a choice is often immediate and tangible on Kagán – it’s a stark contrast to so much of the online and virtual work we currently do.
We’re at anchor today, and I’m “just sitting” in the cockpit at the moment. But in addition to admiring the very shiny gelcoat, I’m listening to oystercatchers chatter on the rocky shore, savoring the cool breeze as Kagán swings to it, and following the kee-kee-kee call of a bald eagle to see it swooping in for a landing on a high snag. Peaceful, happy, and offline, yes. Bored, no.
Tell me, what engages you?
The Chuckanut Formation sediments were deposited by a meandering river 50 million years ago. There were several depositional environments along the river, including braided streams, point bars, and oxbow lakes, resulting in numerous rock types within the formation – conglomerates to sandstones to siltstones.
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