Every Single Night

   Every night. If you asked me how often I see my boat, I'd say, "maybe once every two weeks." How often do I think of her though? "Every night." I think about her galley when I cook dinner, I think about her settees when I lay down. I think about her lights when the living room starts to get dim. I think about the hidey-holes for foods and tools. I think about her motion in a heavy chop. I think about her massive sails, her too-short motor... about her nonexistent charts or gps. I think about all the times she scared me, and the times I scared myself with her.
   I ask myself every night, "Why am I doing this?" I think about tides I've never had to deal with, new, strange anchorages, careless cruisers and overnighters dropping anchor over mine. I think about hailing bridge operators, and being invited to other boats. I think about not getting invited. I think about being alone for days at a time, maybe weeks. I think about how Cassandra feels just a little to big to sail alone and a little to small to live on.
   I think about this trip, this 'hair up my butt' as Dad would say. I ask myself question after question, and the answer comes up the same. I don't know.

   Why do you want to go?
   Won't you go crazy?
   Won't you be lonely?
   Will I make friends?
   Will I be too (I can't think of the word, tired, afraid, introverted, shy, broken?) to want to meet people?    Meeting people is one of my biggest fears. I can talk to any boater, my job has proven that to me. But, the amount of effort it takes is almost painful sometimes.
   Will I be able to handle the boat alone?
   Will I be able to handle the conditions? They aren't like Lake Ontario.
   Is my boat ready?
   Am I ready?
   Why do I want to do this?

Every night that question rears it's head. "Why am I doing this?" "...I don't know..." Maybe I'm doing it because I have to prove something to myself. Maybe it's because I don't need to prove anything. Maybe it's because I can, maybe because I'm convinced it will 'fix' me. Maybe I'm hoping to find a friend, or love, or renew my relationship with God. Maybe I'm running away, scared. Maybe I'm running at what I'm afraid of. Maybe I'm lost and wandering. Maybe it's because I only feel whole when I wander. Maybe... there are too many maybes and it could be any, all, or none of them. I don't know.

So why am I going? Right now, it's because I said I would, and I am a man of my word. The rest of the blanks will fill themselves in as I go. Or not. I intend to find out.