In Which We Don’t Sail Into the Sunset

~ Kana Smith

Last weekend we drove one last time to our boat, to finish cleaning it out.

My mom and I had gotten the bulk of things moved out, a couple months back. She and I were there for a “girls’ weekend” when I arrived at the realization that we should probably sell it—an epiphany that had probably been building in my subconscious for a while. One thing after another had surfaced as things we wished were different, or things we needed to fix or change—and on top of that, we’d come to realize that we couldn’t even get to the boat half as often as we’d hoped or planned to. Even when we were able to get away and make the five-hour drive to get there, we spent our time working on the boat rather than sailing it anywhere. A boat needs a lot of upkeep, and we weren’t even getting that done, let alone the many bigger projects.

For a couple years that boat had been my “Happy Place,” but it was becoming less and less so—and I finally admitted that to myself while I was there with my mom. So we turned our visit into a packing-up project, and we spent the weekend hauling things up to the dock and packing them into her car. (You’d be amazed how much stuff can be fitted into a Honda Pilot.) But there was still a carload-worth of stuff that needed to be cleared out—and we needed to “clean house” and swab the deck and get it ready to show.

I’d been dreading the prospect. Dreading the time in what had been my Happy Place for two years.

I find I have a deep sense of embarrassment—almost shame—-about having fallen for the “wrong” boat. It goes deeper than embarrassment about being wrong (and jumping in with both feet and buying the boat), although that’s a part of it. I know these things about myself: I jump into things with both feet, and I hate being wrong. I did that with a marriage once, though in that case I’ll plead being “under the influence” of a severe Manic swing of Bipolar. He was a pathological liar and a con man, and turned out to be already married to someone else, so you see how well that turned out. Loving the wrong boat was at least not damaging in the way that falling for the wrong man was. He damaged my FAMILY, and he’s a contributing factor to why my kids still don’t talk to me, more than a decade later. Loving the boat wasn’t damaging—it was just a dead end. Or a detour, maybe. And while I loved it, it contributed a great deal of Joy, so it wasn’t a waste. It just didn’t turn into “sailing into the sunset” the way we’d originally planned with it.

the writer on her boat under sail
Far Reach under sail. Definitely my Happy Place.

Selling the boat changes the shape of our future. The Plan was to finish paying it off and to leave our job, managing an Oregon RV Park, within a couple more years to move aboard the boat. We’d equip it with satellite internet and I’d look for work freelance writing to keep the “sailing kitty” healthy, and we’d Travel. To warm places. We figured we’d start with a winter in Mexico—in part because that “shakedown cruise” would keep us within reach of a continent while we got into our groove. And then we’d sail into the Pacific, where there are hundreds of places I’d like to see, and we’d get to see them while taking our “home base” and comfort zone with us, and we could visit them in as leisurely a fashion as we’d like, with no need to rush around and get back on a plane home. Home would be with us.

So selling the boat changes the shape of the future. We’re still at our RV-Park job, and there’s not an “end date” anymore. Or rather, we don’t know what it is. The future doesn’t have a road-map (or a sailing chart) at the moment, and that’s not my comfort zone. I’m accustomed to having a Plan—even though I know that God usually tops my Plans with something better. I suppose at this point we’re waiting to see what the “something better” is going to be.

a sailing chart under open sails

19 thoughts on “In Which We Don’t Sail Into the Sunset”

  5. Kana.

    Unfortunately, or fortunately, the only thing we can really count on in life is change. Change of plans, change of jobs, changes in what we can and cannot do.

    Selling your boat must have been a very traumatic experience for you. But then again, most change is.

    I can commiserate with you in a way, I have a wonderful cabin over in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. The cabin has been in the family for two generations now. My wife and I used to love going up there over weekends and just enjoying the solitude. I love it because of the fact that my father rebuilt the place and I get a very close feeling of being with him when I’m there.

    We used to love going there with our friends. We would go up for long weekends and spend the time out visiting wineries throughout the Shenandoah Valley area. There were some great places to eat and we had a lot of fun up there. But our friends are now aging had no longer able to make the trip. Of the four couples we are probably the only two, my wife and myself, that can’t even think about going up there anymore.

    At some point we were considering selling the place, but it has such a strong family hold on us that doing so would be difficult.

    Fortunately, my middle son decided to move from the Washington DC area and he took a job down in Harrisonburg. That’s about 18 miles away from the cabin, so he has moved in and lives there full time.

    That created a positive issue for us and the fact that we did not have to sell the place, and it gives him a relatively inexpensive place to stay. He pays us rent which pays for the electricity and cable TV and our maintenance fees in the HOA. However we’ve reached a point where my wife no longer likes to go up there. My Batchelor-son isn’t a very good housekeeper. LOL

    I still try to get up there a few times a year, I have to go up and pick up my quarterly wine issue for my wine club. I used to love going up there and backpacking. My buddy and I would hike all up and down Massanutten mountain. Unfortunately those days I think are gone. My backpack sits in a case in the loft in the shed. I moved it there because every time that I passed the closet I had it stored in and saw it he would almost bring tears to my eyes. After hiking the entire Appalachian Trail, the Tuscarora trail and a large part of the Allegheny trail carrying that backpack. it brought back tremendous memories for me. Just like your boat.

    As you mentioned though I’m sure God has a different plan for you at this point in your life and who knows where that plan will take you. Perhaps, it will give you the opportunity to write a bestseller, make a fortune, and then have the ability to hire somebody to sail you around the world. One can always dream.

    Regards, “Hardcharger”

    http://www.ptaylorvietnamadvisor.com

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  7. Boy, can I relate! Not with a boat, but about life and having a plan. We had a retirement plan all worked out and were scheduled to retire and move to our “happy place” in February 2025. We ran into some issues the year before and our plans came crashing down. Our “end date” is now in four years, but we’re just letting the universe guide us in whatever way necessary to get there. It will work out :)

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  8. I can just hear God snickering as He listens to you talk about “your” plans and saying, “But Kana, you haven’t given Me time to show you My plans yet!” I can’t wait to see what He has in store for you and Jon!

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  9. Where God takes us is only is vision, until he makes it clear to us. Stay faithful that there is a plan and be open to it as well. It may seem odd, but you can’t see the whole picture, again until he reveals it to you. 😊

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  10. You’re a strong woman, Kana!

    When you get to enjoy that you can’t really control or make plans, life gets more interesting. I know for a fact that’s not always easy ><

    (Oh oh, I just realised… that you may be a teal color lover, just like me… I have left behind my “teal phase”, it sailed into the sunset, sort of, but still, it’s close to my heart.

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