The Ring of Fire

Position: 23°31’11.4″N 75°45’21.5″W

“I fell into a burning ring of fire, I went down, down, down and the flames went higher, and it burns, burns, burns, the ring of fire.”

That line from Johnny Cash’s song about battling the aftereffects of a spicy burrito is only tangentially relevant to this post. And those of you who say, I know where this is going, well hang on bucko! (I can’t wait to read the rest of this – ed.)

Let’s talk about life on board. Take an average couple that have lived together for years in a house and garden in any American suburb. One or both partners may leave early for work and come home late. Happy loving couples may spend only a handful of waking hours a day in each other’s company. And that reality has formed the basis of many long-lived relationships.

Bliss

It’s safe to say they probably have plenty of space around to stretch out. Going down to the shops for a pint of milk or a latte is simply a short walk or drive away. They can head off to the park with the dogs anytime they like, or drop the kids at school and pick them up later as schedules dictate. In these ways rhythms and routines are established.

Others find their bliss in working together full time. Carol and I have worked from home for the past seven or eight years. It’s not an arrangement for everyone. We each had our own offices and for the most part it worked out. There were business trips and meetings that provided breathing room and time to appreciate each other more in absentia.

Boat

When you move onto a boat, even a 40’ boat, things are different. And not in ways that are immediately obvious. Sure, routines are disrupted, the dogs don’t get walked, you can’t pop out to the shops when you want, and business trips have become, largely, a thing of the past. Our context has changed. Our space has shrunk. And there’s material risk, even deadly risk, of the kind you simply don’t find in your backyard.

Mooching around your house will get you killed by accident (assuming heart disease and cancer don’t get to you first). Out on the high seas your decisions are a direct causal link to your morbidity, if not your mortality. Choices have consequences. Accidents at sea are not like slipping in the shower or overbalancing on a ladder, they’re almost always the result of a series of poor decisions.

Burrito

These then are the ingredients for rolling the perfect cruising burrito: contextual disruption, tight living quarters, high risk decision-making, inexperience, and resultant tension. A veritable ring of fire! (Oh, gee, finally – ed.)

How have we been faring over the past four months? Given that context, pretty gosh darn well, actually. Do we snipe at each other? Sure. Do we get frustrated when things are, or are not, put back in the “right” place? You bet. Does decision-making lead to hand waving and exasperation? Naturally. Are we still speaking? Yes we are. Is the boat still afloat? It is. Have we found ways of making space for each other? We have.

Bumps

Is there a secret to making all this work? Not really. You just have to be committed enough to each other and continually remind yourselves that every day is an opportunity to learn something new. To learn something new about each other, about yourself, about sailing, about the boat and its environment. Every day we push the envelope a little further. When we push a bit harder, road blocks become speed-bumps and mountains become sand dunes. It’s a wonderful thing – especially with a partner.

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