There is something about being on my boat alone that reminds me of who I am.

I came over to Catalina island this weekend by myself for the first time in about four years. There was a time when I came over here alone all the time, but because of everything I have been through over the last several years, those solo trips have been a little more limited. So simply being here on my own again feels significant. Like I am getting back on my game and returning to a part of myself that is very important to my well being and centeredness.

I am tucked into a magical little cove that Brendan introduced me to. I have been coming to Catalina for many, many years, but somehow I had never been here until he brought me. I am so grateful to him for sharing this place with me because it has become incredibly special to me.

It is different from many of the other places I have stayed around the island. You have to anchor bow and stern here so the boats don’t swing and more of us can fit safely into the cove. There are also no generators allowed after 5 PM, and in general people seem to understand the spirit of the place. It is quiet and respectful and truly peaceful.

I love Catalina, all of it, but the experience can be very different in some of the busier coves, with crowded moorings, generators running, loud music and people partying. There is nothing wrong with enjoying the island that way, but for me it changes the feeling of being out here and connecting with nature. In this little cove, things get quiet. You hear the water against the boat. You notice the light changing on the hills. You swim in water that right now is an absolutely blissful temperature. It feels like you can actually settle into the place rather than simply visit it.

This trip had another milestone for me. I anchored here by myself for the first time.

I had moral support standing by, which I appreciated, but I did it. I have set the bow and stern anchors here many times with Brendan and with my crew, and before coming over I had practiced the whole process about a million times in my head. I knew what needed to happen and in what order. When the moment came, I was grateful for calm conditions and enough space to take my time, and I got it done.

There is something deeply satisfying about that. Not because I need to prove that I can do everything alone, but because doing these things alone reminds me of what lives inside of me. Of WHO lives inside me.

I have spent so much of my life orienting myself around other people. I understand that about myself now in ways I didn’t when I was younger, and I still have to work with that tendency every day. But something changes when I am alone on my boat. I am responsible for the decisions. I have to trust what I know. I have to solve the problem in front of me. There isn’t much room to look outside myself for the answer.

The boat also gives me something I have a hard time finding anywhere else: deep presence.

You can’t help but be in the present moment when you are operating a sailboat, especially when you are the captain, crew and everything in between. Even when everything is calm, you are paying attention. Where is the wind coming from? How is the boat lying? Are the anchors holding? What is that sound? What is the weather doing? What are the other boats doing? You are constantly taking in information and responding to what is actually happening rather than what might happen or what happened yesterday.

I think that is part of why being out here feels so restorative to me. It brings me back into my body, my senses and my own decision making. It reminds me of my autonomy, my identity and my internal power.

And strangely enough, it is not all that different from what making art gives me. Both require me to pay attention to what is happening right now. Both ask me to respond rather than control everything. Both give me a way back into myself that doesn’t require me to think my way there.

This morning I took a long walk. It is hot, but absolutely beautiful, and later I will probably get back into that glorious water. Brendan being sick changed our plans unexpectedly, and instead of the weekend we thought we were going to have, I found myself with this stretch of time alone. So I am taking it. I am writing. I brought art supplies. I am swimming and walking and sitting on my boat in this beautiful little cove, allowing myself to enjoy my own company.

I am grateful for Brendan introducing me to this place. I am grateful for the calm conditions that gave me the space to do something new on my own. And I am grateful to feel this part of myself coming forward again.

Maybe that is what I love most about being alone on my boat. It doesn’t make me autonomous or capable or strong.

It reminds me that I already am