A Step Back into My Joy

I just returned from a soul-soothing trip to Catalina for 5 days and 5 nights. Catalina island has become a sanctuary for my heart and soul over the years. Whenever I need to escape the energy of the city, I am grateful to be able to sail 28 miles across the channel and into her magical realms. I am a country girl at heart, and I grew up surrounded by nature and wide open spaces and that is always where I need to return when I get off-kilter, or city life starts to get the best of me. The ocean provides deep solace, but I need  earth energy to balance it out sometimes. Thankfully, Catalina has the best of both, reminiscent of my childhood home of Hawaii.

The day I left for the island, I was supposed to be racing (really, finishing a race), but I had to make a different decision. I have not been feeling 100% for some time, and I had to admit to myself that I was not up for it. The last two attempts to go offshore, and the resulting sea sickness, mixed with life’s challenges, have been taking their toll, and I knew it would’ve been too much. To admit this was very hard for me, but I also knew that it was essential to my well-being. The last two and a half years since my epic trip to Hawaii have turned out to be  among the most challenging of my life. They have marked the threshold into the next phase of healing some old wounds, for once and for all. My trip, and the heartbreaking loss of my dear Haunani, collided with my mid-life passage which has provided an opening in my being for this healing. It has been HARD, but I see the opportunity, and I am very grateful.

 Sailing is my solace, but lately it has started to feel more like a push I have started to feel the need to prove something, or do it a certain way. So instead of racing last weekend I returned to the sheer joy of sailing. I am so glad, because in allowing this, I was able to dig down and soothe some parts of myself that have needed love and tenderness and NOT pushing and proving.

The journey started with a night in magical Emerald bay, where I ran into, and got to share a meal with some of my PSSA compadres who had just finished the race. I then motored around to Cat Harbor early the next morning, where I moored for a couple of nights. The last two nights were spent in Moonstone Cove, where Cassiopeia was the lone vessel in the expanse of two mooring fields. It was beyond peaceful and soul soothing. My sweet soul sister Gabi joined me for the sail home on Thursday, where we had 17-22 knot winds providing a lively journey……with NO sea sickness thanks to Sturgeron!!

I have never seen the island so green and resplendent with wildflowers. Every place I looked seemed more magnificent than the last. There was hardly a soul around, and it felt like I had the place to myself. The island company offers a week for the price of two nights in the winter, so no one had to twist my arm to take the extra days to revel in it all. I took long, aimless walks with my Gracie, and also got to spend some time with friends. I ate simply and drank lots of tea on deck. I read, wrote, played my guitar, sang and just sat still. It was pure magic.

I became more skilled at beaching my dinghy alone (for dog trips to shore in the remote coves) with only a few of my famous beach wipeouts as a warm up. I spent my first night ever, alone in a remote place with no other boats (besides the middle of the ocean that is). I had 4/5 successful solo mooring pick-ups. And most importantly, I was able to emotionally and physically decompress in a way I haven’t in many months. The quiet and peace of the island seeped into my bones and soothed what ailed. As with every trip to that magical land, I started counting my days until the next trip before I even left.

I am eternally grateful for the blessing of my boat, and the beautiful sanctuary of Catalina Island which is always beckoning from right across our back yard!

My Aborted Qualifier

As I’ve mentioned, I have been trying to do my 125-mile qualifier for a couple of weeks now. It turns out the effort was in vain, since our Guadalupe Island for which I needed to qualify, has since been canceled, but I wanted to share about my latest journey anyhow. The journey is what really matters to me, and though I said it was in vain, I truly don’t believe any of these efforts are in vain. I have been able to give Cassiopeia a good shakedown, and I feel ready for Begg Rock now, which is the race that is replacing Guadalupe Island. I have included some videos of my day, interspersed with the story to give a sense of the ups and downs of my day.

 I finally found a few days that I could get away, and then I had to wait for the right weather. I was vacillating between compulsively checking all of the wind prediction sites and obsessively staring at the sea of masthead flies out my window. I would look at the wind direction and will the wind instrument cups to spin faster. All of this in hopes of grabbing the perfect weather recipe to head offshore. Did I mention it was raining? It was a dreary day in Marina Del Rey, but there is something about the moodiness of it all that was calling me out there anyhow. I’m not afraid of a little rain, but truth be told, I fear the fog, and on top of that, I really didn’t want to head out for this trip in anything under 10 knots.

 I ended up departing on a Sunday morning. The wind looked good and the weather was clear. I started my track right outside the breakwater because the wind was actually up, which wasn’t expected for a bit. I was planning on motoring up towards Malibu for a while to ensure a nice tack out past the West End of Catalina, and ended up being able to sail instead. The conditions were dreamy, and Cassiopeia was moving well.

My happiness couldn’t win over the sea sickness I started to feel about 3 hours into our trip. It is fairly usual for me to feel a little quease, but this came on fast, and got pretty yucky. I stayed my course though and was determined to persevere. As sunset was approaching, I was nearing the West end. I decided to tack away for while, because not only was I closer to the island than I wanted to be, but there was a huge black squall just beyond, which didn’t look too fun.

With my new inner stay, I have to furl my Genoa in order to tack, and I am not used to this yet, so it admittedly throws me off my routine (I actually forgot on my 1st tack of the day and learned 1st hand why this is mandatory). I started to tack, and thankfully remembered at the last minute, got the sail in, and the tack was fine. We headed out for a while in the pre-sunset light, and though I was happy to be going away from the black skies, I realized I was not being very efficient in getting offshore. The wind direction made it such that I was essentially heading more towards home than out to sea, so I decided to tack back and brave the squall. I remembered on this tack to furl my sail, but this time it wouldn’t budge. I tried a few tricks, but the furler was jammed. I went up forward to check it out and I had the world’s most annoying and severe override of the furling line. There was nothing I could do to fix it in the drum, so I had to remove all of the line. All of this while the bow is heaving and I am getting sicker by the moment. I got the line out, and started to see if there was an efficient way to re-run it without dropping my sail (so I could wind it easily on the drum). There really wasn’t, and I felt like crap. I hemmed and hawed for a moment as I hung on to the wet foredeck, but the thought of heading offshore towards a squall in the night without a way to reef my big Genoa was not prudent (and I didn’t want to deal with dropping it and lashing it on deck in the dark feeling the way I was). Sure I could have lashed the genoa to my foredeck then and there, and continued with my staysail until morning, but sickness trumped everything, and I decided to call it a day. I dropped the sail, and turned Cassiopeia towards the Isthmus, which was about nine miles away. I was kicking myself because the override was totally my fault. I didn’t tend the furling line on one of my tacks as I let the sail out. This is something I always ride my crew about, and I did it in a moment of thoughtlessness. I was very annoyed with myself, to say the least!

As I motor sailed towards the familiar harbor, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. I was sad to quit, but also glad to be heading in for a respite from this queasiness. As we approached the entrance to the harbor, darkness fell heavily, and there was no moon to guide us. Thankfully the wind subsided as I dropped my sails and headed in. I called harbor patrol a few times and there was no answer. Oh right…its winter. They go home early this time of year, so I was on my own. I usually ask for assistance when Im alone in picking up a mooring. The guys are so happy to help, and I have found that doing it alone in my big boat is just not that fun. It was all up to me that night, though, and I managed to get it done in three tries…mostly because I could hardly see a thing, let alone a skinny stick in that darkness. If anyone had seen or heard me, it would have provided some serious comic relief. I had a running conversation going with myself and Cassiopeia, as I tried to shine my headlamp just so to be able to see the stick, and then to get her at just the perfect glide to make it all happen.

 Once I was on the mooring, I was able to let down, and I realized I was still very queasy. Usually the quease subsides once I stop moving, but not this time. It continued into the next day, and most of the way home. I was able to easily fix my furler the next morning, but once I stopped focusing on that, I felt so sick that I had to go to land for a few hours before heading home. Thankfully the island did not disappoint with her emerald green hills and impressive serenity. A long walk helped me to re-calibrate a bit. I was more saddened by my sea sickness than by retiring from my qualifier. It feels like such a cruel joke to get sick doing the thing I love the most. I love it too much to stop though, and am now determined to find the perfect sea sickness remedy for these shorter offshore trips.

The beauty always wins, and as I write this, I am reminded that sailing is my solace, and something I do to feed my soul. It is so easy to get sucked into proving and pushing as I get more into solo offshore racing, but this trip reminded me to slow down and connect to my why. For me it is all about connecting to myself more deeply. Sailing gives me that, and when I slow down enough to listen to my gut and remember the pleasure that I am seeking, I can be kinder to myself when snafus happen and I need to turn around. Of course if I were in my way to Hawaii, I would have continued and would have had to fix the furler underway…or perhaps I would have waited to daylight. The point is though, that I was doing this for myself, and I was close to land with a safe and easy way to take care of myself. I’m proud to have chosen that.

even feeling sick, this view brings me so much peace

Almost to the West End, moving out!

Before I fixed the furler. Green island bidding me good morning!

My sweet friend Robin arriving to keep me company on the sail home!

my track….note the gaggle of dots as I tried to fix that pesky furler!

The trip was 9 hours and 18 minutes, traveling 50.2 miles. Still a solid trip!

Following a Thread :: Why do I love to go to sea alone

There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.

-William Stafford

This poem has always resonated deeply with me. It has actually done more than that; it has provided me with validation and understanding. I have innately trusted the thread since I was a young woman, even though I had no words for what it was back then. I have faithfully followed it’s winding pull (albeit at times, kicking and screaming), trusting that whatever happened along the way would make perfect sense one day, or at the very least, serve an important purpose. The GPS track of my solo journey 2500 miles across the Pacific in 2016 is the thread making itself visible for a flash. Other times it is not quite so recognizable. When I think back on my life and some things I so confidently and erroneously declared as truth, I am just a day sailor stands out as one. I used to repeat this phrase like a mantra when asked if I had any big sailing goals. It goes to show that sometimes there exist truths in our souls that we are not quite ready to see. This is why I trust the thread. I am amazed at how it has always shown me the way. It continues to be a silent filament holding firm on its course, an invisible web of a life map, MY life map.

Even thinking back as recently as 2 years ago, just after completing the SHTP, getting asked if I would ever do that trip again would get an are you f***ing kidding me  look. Within a couple months of that however, I would respond with “maybe when I’m 60”. And here I am at 51, just two and a half years after the finish of that race, thinking about sailing solo again across the Pacific again in 2020. It seems that I can feel the thread pulsating in my hand more than ever now as I pay deep attention to the calling I feel. 

I feel alive when I trust the path of my life. Solo offshore sailing has become and inextricable part of my path now, and the call to sail farther, dig deeper and push myself in new ways is loud and clear. Sometimes the thread is like this. It can go from subtle hints to billboard sized flashes of truth without warning. There are times that I get overwhelmed and remind myself that I could just relax back into the comfort of being only a day sailor, (or a Catalina Island adventurer). That would be pleasant and easy. It would not quell the stirring in my soul to seek new horizons though. My drive has gotten more specific lately. Someone asked me if I wanted to double-hand the next race, and my answer was an emphatic NO. This is not to say I wont double-hand a race again, or sail with friends, but it is confirmation that sailing alone and challenging myself in this way is what calls me out over the horizon. I have been voraciously reading books written by solo sailors describing their journeys, looking for kindred souls or some kind of explanation for this fierce calling of mine. In my pursuit, I have certainly found kindred spirits, but what I am learning is that our calls to go to sea alone are unique. We can relate to one another, but we still sail on guided by our own inner compass, and in my case, the quest for answers to deep questions about who I really am without the energy of others near me.  As one of my favorite writers on solo offshore sailing, Christian Williams articulates: “something is out there that doesn’t have a name”. I suppose that is why I am driven to sail out over the horizon by myself…..in search of that something. We all have our own SOMETHING to find.

Catalina To Port: A PSSA Race

From the starting line located near Palos Verdes buoy "10PV", leave the West End of Catalina to port, finish when Catalina East End light position 33 18.1162N 118 19.0570W is within 0.5 NM and bears 350°M from the helmsman's position. The skipper shall take his (or HER...I added this :-) ) own finish time. Handicap distance 41 NM.

 This is my 3rd year racing in The Pacific Singlehanded Sailing Association’s Catalina to Port race. I doublehanded with my boyfriend, Stephen. It was our first time doing this in a race, and we were very excited about the opportunity to share in this experience. I absolutely love this race, because of the varied conditions and points of sail over the course of a day, but mainly because the backside of Catalina Island is a magical world. It’s uninhabited and dramatic coastline makes one feel light years away from the intense energy of LA. And if you look to the right, you can see my favorite sight of all time, and without obstruction……the horizon over the wild Pacific!

  Our start was at 11am off of Palos Verdes point. I was very happy to see so many boats out there as we approached the PV buoy. We had eight boats all in all, 3 doublehanded, and 5 singlehanded. DIstraxxion, Jeff Coyle’s XP 44 was our rabbit boat. She always takes my breath away when I see her sleek lines and powerful rig! If Jeff weren’t such a wonderful guy, I might feel pretty intimidated by the sight of her!

We had a bit of a rugged start, but once we got on track, we were moving quite well. The winds were light at first, which caused a bit of a confusion for me as we tried to figure out which tack towards the island was favored. We made a mistake by heading out on a port tack for too long. Distraxxion, Velocity  (Thomas' Hobie 33) and Katin (Jason's Jeanneau Sunfast 3200) headed the other direction and it became apparent to us pretty quickly the mistake we had made. One thing I learned from that, is to be more patient when the wind is light, and not feel pressure to DO something about it, but rather to allow it to show me the way. Despite our bad call, we were moving along well towards the island once the wind filled in and we were on a starboard tack, and made it to the west end of Catalina by about 3pm. We rounded the island and headed out to sea for a bit trying to get into a good position for our downwind run towards the East end.  With our spinnaker flying well, filled by a steady breeze, we made good way down the coast (even though I was still kicking myself because knew that the aforementioned three boats had left us in the dust). It was fun to be out there flanked by the rest of the fleet though, who were at various positions around us, flying spinnakers of many colors.

 Brian on Slow Poke (Ranger 23T) kept all of the boats connected and communicating all day by checking in with us to see how we were doing. It was fun to hear how everyone was faring, and especially to get the report from the boats ahead that there was big wind around the point coming into the east end and our finish. We heeded this warning and doused our spinnaker just in time. The wind was up around 20 knots by this time and right on our stern, and we were able to move quite well wing and wing with mainsail and a reefed genoa the rest of the way. At one point (see the video below) I was steering us along towards the finish, and I was overcome with gratitude, not only for the majesty that surrounded me int hat moment, but also for all that I have learned as a sailor in the past four years. So much has happened, and so many lessons have been learned. Some were hard and some were magical, but through them all I am still so blown away that I am able to be out there in the wild blue, surrounded by nature in this way. It brings a tear to my eye as I write this. There is nothing like it anywhere else!

 We finished around 7:30, graced by one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen. The sight of the sunset over Church Rock and the East End is probably my favorite thing about this race! Church rock seems the most appropriate name, for I felt I was in the most sacred house of worship in that moment. After we finished, the wind shadow of the island slowed us to a peaceful pace, and we cranked up the engine and headed into Avalon for a much needed and well-deserved meal at the Lobster Trap.

 I am as always, so grateful to PSSA and all of its seasoned sailors for the opportunity and inspiration to learn and grow as a sailor. I am also grateful to Stephen for being such a great teammate and for teaching me so much along the way. I am hoping that my autopilot will be ready for me to singlehand the next race in May, which is the Santa Barbara Island race.

New Horizons :: A Clearing of The Clouds

A year ago today I was literally sh*tting my pants with nerves. I was about 2 days away from casting off into an adventure on which I had no idea what would transpire. As I wrote about in my blog then, there was the chaotic last minute boat prep scramble, and the nerves around what I was about to do. What I did not share, however, was that there was also a lot of personal turmoil going on during these days. I didn’t have bandwidth to acknowledge it back then (or I would have surely lost my mojo), but it wounded my heart and soul deeply. It STILL takes its toll on me, and I am frustrated with myself about that…and angry that I let it do so back then. It has remained a cloud over my journey for a long time, and am ready to clear it. I won’t go into details, but I will say that I need to let it go and wholly reclaim my journey for the huge and transformational undertaking that it was.

As the one-year anniversary of my departure approaches, I have been revisiting many aspects of my experience. The ones you see on my social media are the easier ones to share. This part is a bit more delicate, but to stay in line with all that I am embracing in the wake of my trip, I am called to honor all aspects of my experience, not just the “positive” ones

I have touched on my depression in the months after my return, but I never fully revealed the whole story for I am only now ready to admit the depth of it. It was partially due to the destruction of my beloved Haunani, but it was also due to this unresolved energy from an unfortunate situation that hovered over my trip and return home. That made it impossible to fully embody the joy that should have come from such a feat. I am finally coming out of my melancholy, and am feeling the lightness of life again and so I am able to begin to embrace the magnitude of what I actually accomplished. I am grateful to my years for the knowledge that everything is temporary (which is what got me through), but even with that, it has been an emotionally challenging year.

As I get Cassiopeia ready for the 2020 Singlehanded Transpac, I can see that I have a huge opportunity. I have the opportunity to have a do-over if you will, and at the same time to reclaim the gift of my original journey by relating to it differently. I am trying to hold these things as a banner of inspiration as I prepare myself.

It helps that having done this before, I feel much less angst as I ready my boat for 2020. I am able to approach the process with more awareness and finesse.  I am a significantly different sailor and boat owner than I was one year ago, and that alone makes me feel empowered. Due to this increased awareness, I can be much more in control of the process than I was able to be last year. I have more time and space in which to make thoughtful decisions. I also have much less of a budget to work with, which creates its own opportunity for mindful choices and prudence. All of these things make me feel more grounded in this experience.

The physical preparation is an important and necessary factor of course, but I am seeing that this time around, my emotional prep and care need to take a front seat.  I am choosing to take better care of myself as this next year and all of its responsibilities and challenges unfold. I am choosing to speak my mind more clearly when it comes to my needs and opinions. I am choosing to keep the energy around my boat and myself clean and clear of negative energy and the emotional turmoil that it inevitably creates.

These three things seem so simple, but they were things I did not so diligently attend to last time, and I was adversely affected by that. There is no way to go back and change the hard stuff, and even if I could, I would not trade the lessons that I received. What I can do is look forward and choose differently.

This is the year that I am turning 50. This is the year of stepping into my truth and strength fully. This is the year of listening to my gut and trusting it. I proved to myself beyond a shadow of a doubt by sailing alone for 2500 miles that I CAN TRUST MYSELF. Now it is time to live that truth on land! No more playing small. No more not speaking up when I know the answer. No more accepting crumbs and convincing myself it is the whole cake. No more putting others’ emotional needs before my own, or as I often describe it, “throwing myself under the bus for another’s comfort”. This is the year of finally understanding that what other people think of me is none of my business.

The ways that I have been supporting myself in doing this are many. I found hypnotherapy, which after 20+ years of talk therapy seems like a magic carpet ride to freedom. With the help of an expert team, I took all of the footage from my journey and turned it into a short documentary. Watching the footage over the past year slowly and firmly planted in my soul the affirmation that I indeed sailed alone across a vast and stormy ocean, and into my own truth and power. Releasing this film into the public eye and allowing others to witness my experience is a bold (and scary) move for me of reclaiming my journey for my own. Grieving the loss of Haunani over the six months of her deconstruction allowed me to acknowledge how she healed me, and also to let go of her so that I could allow space for new adventures on a new vessel. Grieving the loss of a love and the illusion that I created around it is still a work in progress, but is allowing me to learn about self-forgiveness more than anything else. This is probably the single most important lesson that I feel called to learn right now.

Just as it did on the morning of my arrival to Hanalei, the heavy shroud of fog and clouds is lifting, and I am seeing my own rainbow framing all of the hope and possibility of a new year and a new phase of my life. I am so grateful to the darkness and to the challenges and successes of this past year. I am especially grateful to all of the beautiful humans in my life who when I am down, always remind me that there is hope, that trust is possible, that love conquers all, and especially for holding up a mirror and reminding me who I am and what I am made of.

I am grateful. I am excited. I am ready for 50! I am ready to sail across the ocean again

BRING  IT  ON!!!!!!!!

The Importance of Embracing The Ups and Downs

I am feeling very raw today. As my life changes course and I adjust my sails to heed a calling I cannot ignore, I feel more and more vulnerable. As one of my favorite teachers, Brene’ Brown says, “Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity. It is the source of hope, empathy, accountability, and authenticity. If we want greater clarity in our purpose or deeper and more meaningful spiritual lives, vulnerability is the path.” As much as I know this deep in my bones, I am writhing with the discomfort of it…yet even in that discomfort, I trust the deep truth of it.

As I approach 50, I am feeling the need to shed some layers. I am tired from a lifetime of presenting a polished and “acceptable” version of myself to keep the peace in my life. I am learning that the most important thing I can do right now is to trust myself and be true to what I feel. I cannot help but relate this to my journey across the Pacific. I was called on to trust myself every moment of every day out there, even when it didn’t feel comfortable or easy to do. I had to trust in my foundation as a sailor and as a human. I had to know that when all was said and done, the truth and strength that lay within that act of trust was enough….that I was enough. I learned out there that I did not have to audition for “the part” (the part of being all things to all people) anymore, and that being the whole raw unadulterated version of myself was more than enough. This was a huge realization for me, because despite all of the things I have accomplished in my life, I have never felt like I was enough. I always thought (still think sometimes) that I had to do more and be more, just to be accepted and deemed as worthy by those around me. I know that this is not a unique plight, but the reverberations of how this revelation affects me personally are shaking me deeply right now.

I am still working on allowing all that I learned on my journey at sea percolate so that I can assimilate it into my daily life. This integration is often painful, however as I come face to face with very old and stubborn habits that are alive and well in my land life. One of those habits is allowing my trust in myself to waiver when I sense doubt in another. My knee jerk reaction is to abandon my own ship in order to keep the peace with another (to quell the horrible feeling of their displeasure). I can see now that when I do this, I am betraying myself, and that is the ultimate betrayal.

So today, I am crawling back up onto my ship and taking the helm with purpose. I am calling on the strength and deep self-trust I felt at sea to remind me of who I really am. I am calling on the oneness I felt with spirit as I plummeted across the Pacific to remind me that all is well, and as it should be. I am calling on the healing powers of nature and Mother Ocean to remind me of the infinite goodness in myself and the world. Being alone at sea reminded me of the order of things, and that that order just IS. There is no need to audition, there is no need to jump ship, but rather to simply be mindful of my own ship and the manner in which I sail her so that she is at one with the flow of the sea.

Ps….I have been posting some videos lately on my Facebook and Instagram feeds about the ups and downs of my journey (I have added a couple below). I have gotten some strong reactions from people who felt that they needed to worry about me because it looked so hard and uncomfortable.. Please don’t worry! For me there is so much strength in sharing the down times, for they are fertilizer for healing and growth, and I would never trade any of them for anything! It is in that spirit that I share this part of my emotional journey with all of you. For me, it’s all the same. This is WHY I sail!

Beware of F Bombs!!!!! :-) A raw and real moment at sea!! Its all a part of the process. I embrace it all!

Vulnerability

As I prepare for my next big adventure, I have been thinking a lot about bravery, and what that means to me in my life. It’s easy to conceptualize bravery when admiring another from afar, but a little more complicated when applying it to my own life’s journey. And within that journey, it’s simpler to apply it to a tangible feat, like sailing alone across the Pacific, but what I am actually being reminded of right now is that real bravery starts with something much deeper. I think if I had to come up with one word that equals bravery for me, it would be vulnerability. Brene’ Brown, one of my heroes and favorite teachers in life studies vulnerability, and through her research, sheds light on its significance to our emotional well-being. If you are not familiar with her work, her TED talk on vulnerability is a great place to start. She says that “vulnerability is our most accurate measurement of courage.” I would have to agree.

The reason I am thinking so much about bravery lately is not so much because I am preparing to head out alone across the Pacific again, but more so because in conjunction with (and really, as a result of) that decision, I am putting myself out into the world in new ways. As with each time I have ventured to do this in my life, I am feeling extremely exposed and nervous. Not only am I being asked to speak at various events about my experience in the 2016 SHTP, but I am in the beginning phases of creating a documentary film about the history of the women skippers of the same race (to ask the question: “why aren’t there more women participating in solo offshore sailing in general?’). My documentary project is gaining so much momentum already that there is no way except forward. It is truly taking on a life of its own, and I am called to be all in. Between heeding this call and agreeing to speak in public, I am being challenged to embody my own experiences and put myself in the public eye in new ways. In short, I am being asked to be brave. I will be honest and say that this feat feels harder to me than when I shoved off the dock into the greatest unknown of my life nine months ago.

The act of writing honestly about my personal experiences, public speaking or interviewing my heroes itself isn’t scary. What feels intimidating is that to do so, I am stepping out of the relative safety of my circle of friends and private life into a much more exposed arena. Through blogging and speaking, I am inviting people that I don’t know into my personal successes and failures. I am also reaching out across oceans and airwaves to my sailing heroines and declaring my intentions, sharing my humble (compared to theirs) experience and asking to interview them about theirs. I am presenting my talk and SHTP video to groups of accomplished sailors who have many thousands more ocean miles under their belts than I do. In doing all of this, I am opening my experiences up to judgement and criticism as well as celebration and support.

All of these things make me quake in my boots, but as I said in my last post, I am heeding a call and trusting that I am at the right track. As scared and vulnerable as I feel every day, I continue to show up in front of my fears, and I continue to put one foot in front of the other. Brene’ Brown reminds me that “courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen” and “the willingness to show up changes us….and makes us a little braver each time.” And so this cycle of bravery lifts me up and reminds me that as uncomfortable as it can feel, there is also freedom in being seen. There is power in sharing myself wholly with people. There is power in sharing all of the parts, not just the shiny ones. Lately it has been hard, but the more I stick to it, the more I am reminded of the nugget of truth found in Brene’ Brown’s research, that “vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity and change.”  In my life, when I have had the courage to show up and be vulnerable, transformation and expansion always occurs.  So, trusting that fact, I am stepping into the arena and showing up. I am not sure exactly for what yet, but the quaking in my boots tells me it’s going to be well worth it!

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” -Theodore Roosevelt
 

New Adventures Await! 2018 Singlehanded Transpac, Here We Come!

I am sitting here at dawn, watching the sun slowly illuminate the Golden Gate Bridge. In the gentle light, I can see a tanker swiftly making its way under the bridge and heading out to sea. I still cannot believe that Haunani and I crossed that same threshold and into the great unknown just 8 months ago. My journey feels so far away and surreal, and most times I have to remind myself that it really happened. Thankfully this week I have gotten to connect with some of my fellow racers to finally be able to share bits of our experiences, which has helped with that reminder. Though I do not know any of them well, just being in their presence, and knowing that we all shared (albeit separately) such a profound experience is grounding for me.

Our little gaggle of sailors in Tiburon

As I drove into the Bay Area for my first visit since I departed the dock in Tiburon with all of those brave souls, I was reminded of so many milestones and moments. Memories flooded my being as I saw the little marina that housed Haunani and me for 2 weeks before the race, and the yacht club where I met everyone for the first time, and the dock from where we all cast off, and finally the Golden Gate Bridge, which will always be a symbol for me of the beginning of my great journey home to myself.  As I experience all of these remembrances throughout my visit, I have consistently had a feeling of disbelief, like I need to pinch myself to remind myself that all of it really happened. I wonder when this sensation of incredulity will dissolve and (hopefully) morph into a deep knowing that lives in my bones.

I find myself wishing I were able to more vividly recall sensations and daily memories of my voyage. My video footage helps, but the actual memories seem to morph into one another. It leaves me craving more, and wanting to feel it all over again. I want to be surrounded by the magic of the watery disk again, I want to feel the expanse of the huge and powerful sea surrounding me and urging me on, I want to witness the private showing of weeks of magical sunrises and sunsets.

Every time I see the horizon over the Pacific, she calls to me. Her allure is irresistible, so much so that I have surrendered and have decided to enter the 2018 Singlehanded Transpac with my new love, Cassiopeia, and do it all over again. Please stay tuned. I am working on a very exciting project as a way to honor and feature the women of the Singlehanded Transpac, and the race itself. I am so excited and inspired…..and yes, just a little bit INSANE!

"May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds... where something strange and more beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you beyond the next turning of the canyon walls."

- Benediction: Edward Abbey

Saying Goodbye to My Haunani

Until today, I hadn’t worked on my Haunani in over a month. Life and other obligations have gotten in the way, but time is ticking down and we need to get the horrible job of dissembling her completed for once and for all. Even though the sting of her loss gets a little easier with time, I have never gotten used to seeing her in such a state of destruction and disarray. I was pretty “together” for most of the day today, but when it came time to leave, I had a moment. I was looking around at her trusty bones, and a wave of emotion came over me stopped me in my tracks. Everyone else was outside, so I allowed myself the moment. I allowed the sadness to well up and the tears to flow. I closed my eyes and remembered the feeling of her strength as she and I barreled across the Pacific together. As I sat there  in her companionway (my favorite spot on my trip) in an urban boat yard, I could almost feel the motion of her strong back as she spirited us through the crazy seas and wind that spiced up our journey to Hawaii. I wandered around to each little space that holds so many memories and let myself take them all in. I even caught myself hugging the bulkhead at one point as I said a long and tearful thank you to my beautiful girl.

I thanked her for being a catalyst for change and healing in my life. I thanked her for giving me the confidence and courage to put one foot in front of the other from the day I bought her to the moment we made it all the way to Hanalei Bay. I thanked her for being so stout and steadfast and for making me feel so safe in the middle of a vast and stormy ocean. I thanked her for all the good times, all the Catalina trips, all the times she provided sacred space for healing and introspection. I thanked her for the hard lessons as well as the smooth ones. I know it’s crazy but I feel like I am talking to a person when I talk to her. I love her so much and I am going to miss her so much when she is really gone. I wish we could sail together one last time, but I know now that our time together ended as it was meant to, and our last epic sail together will forever be emblazoned upon my heart and soul. There will never be another Haunani, that is for sure. 

Cassiopeia's First Race

Saturday was my 1st race on Cassiopeia! It was also my 1st race period on my own boat, outside of PSSA races (and of course the SHTP). It was the first of the Berger/Stein Series races and it was from Marina Del Rey to Malibu and return. Being near the start line as everyone was tacking around waiting to begin, was such a wonderful experience. I knew most of the boats, and was now seeing them all from the vantage point of my own as I sailed by them waiving hellos and shouting good lucks! I missed being aboard dear Eggemogin, as I had in the two years prior, but this was a new beginning for me, and I was excited to try something new. We didn’t have much wind, but it was a lovely day to be on the water! I was lucky enough to be double handing with my dear friend Whitall, who taught me so much in one day about light air sail trim, and despite the super light conditions, we were able to keep moving all day. We, like almost everyone else, aborted the race just before sunset (about 2nm from our mark in Malibu). It was futile to try to finish in those conditions, and I was just happy we got as far as we did. The sunset was reason enough to be out there anyhow, and we heartily drank in the beauty and solace that unfolded before our eyes as we made our way home. I was literally moved to tears by the majesty of it all.

It’s hard to accurately convey why every sunset on the water can drop me to my knees. No matter how many I have witnessed or how frequently I witness them. It always feels new, and it invokes a sense of reverence in me like nothing else I have ever felt. Nature in general, and the sea in particular is truly my “church”. I feel the closest connection to spirit when I am out there, and the sunset hour seems to be the most sacred of those times. As the sun splashes its light along the horizon, the veil between worlds seems to be almost non-existent, and I can viscerally experience being one with God, nature, the universe (whatever you want to call it....to me it is all the same). Being on the sea is where I can most easily connect with the indescribable magic of that realm. I always try to capture the magic in images and video, and this time I think I came pretty close, although nothing is like being there in person drinking in in with every fiber of my being.

Sacred Horizons

January 3, 2017

Six months ago today, I witnessed the first of seventeen majestic sunrises over the Pacific as I made my way to Kauai on my beloved sailboat, Haunani. The day before, I sailed out under the Golden Gate Bridge past anything familiar and into a 360’sphere that would change me forever. I have said before that my journey didn’t really change me, but rather reminded me of who I really was. I was indeed reminded of what was inside me all along, but I am realizing now, that that very fact has changed me. I feel I am on the precipice of something profound, and watching San Francisco disappear in my wake and then arriving in Hanalei Bay seventeen days later was just the beginning of my transformation.

When I reflect on my journey, the most stirring memories I have are of the stunning sunrises I was blessed to witness. The glow of the sun slowly illuminating the dramatic horizon was an elixir for my heart and soul and motivation for my weary body. The sun would come up again, no matter how treacherous or stormy the night, and would evoke a sense of wonder and promise in me no matter my mood. She would shine a light across the sacred horizon to illuminate the mysteries of the night and transform them into possibility and motivation. It was like being born again every day. No matter what the disposition of the sea, the sunrise was a shot of grace into my soul that would without fail remind me of all that is right in the world, and renew my determination.

It is in the spirit of that renewed determination, and also the necessary release of my beloved Haunani, that I rename this blog “Sacred Horizons”. I am as ever, gazing out into the mysterious promise of luring horizons with hope and determination as I navigate this next phase of my life’s adventure.

Meet Cassiopeia!

I will always mourn the loss of my beloved Haunani, but as time goes on I am healing, and the sadness is lifting. Now that my insurance claim is settled, I feel it timely to introduce my new love, Cassiopeia. She is a 2005  Hanse 37. As I deconstruct Haunani, I am upgrading Cassiopeia and preparing her to be my companion in the next frontier of my sailing adventures. She is a lovely lady, a bit more sophisticated and "fancy" than my rugged Haunani, but she is comfy fun and FAST! I look forward to learning from her as I tackle my next set of sailing goals. We have entered the 1st of The Del Rey Yacht Club Berger race series, and plan on doing all of the Pacific Singlehanded Sailing Association races this winter as well! Little by little I will replace her electronics with all of Haunani's, (VHF, AIS, digital radar Chartplotter, stereo,etc) as well as some other choice items (windlass and NKE autopilot to name a couple). I am still learning her ways, and figuring out to navigate her layout efficiently.  I could move around Haunani blindfolded, but now I find myself tripping all over Cassiopeia as I get used to her set up. Its actually comical sometimes. I am sure this will all shift soon, but I would be lying if I said it has been a seamless transition. Haunani and I were one, and I still pine for the old girl, and the familiarity of her bones. 

From Behind the Veil

“You're doing this for YOU! No one else. Everything else is noise. External feedback has no power. YOU know what you need to do. This is your journey. Your legacy. Your walk about. Stand in your power and find your answers. I love you and believe in you”.

This little gem was sent to me on the eve of my departure for Hawaii by my baby sister. She is a wise one, who drops truth bombs like no one else I know. Sometimes I marvel that I even have to be reminded of such things at the ripe old age of 49 (and by a sister 8 years my junior no less), but I admit that I do.

Though my physical walk about is over, I am reluctantly realizing that the inner vision quest that it sparked is only just beginning. I don’t think I realized until this week, that what I have been experiencing lately is not so much a depression or a funk, but a rebirth, or a coming of age…well shit, isn’t that exactly what a vision quest IS? There has been a heavy veil upon and around me since I returned from my voyage, some of it is made up of tangible reasons, and the rest is made up of sheer mystery (otherwise known as sheer torture). It makes me think of one of my favorite books, The Mists of Avalon (based on the legend of King Arthur). The mists are a magical veil shrouding a land full of mystery and wisdom, that can only be parted when one is in full connection with oneself and spirit (at least that is my interpretation). As I do the work needed to part the mists, the veil is lifting and things are slowly becoming clear once again. I have been here before, so many times, but never like this. This work is not easy, I tell you. I don’t think I have ever before gone farther into the abyss of transformative darkness. I can see light peeking through the heavy veil, but I am still in here swimming around, looking for buried treasure and hoping that soon, very soon, I will be able to surface and breathe the fresh clean air on the other side of the mists.

As I navigate the depths of this challenging time, I am trying to live by my sister’s wise words. I am trying to move through it with my own truth at the center, rather than pull of the opinions, judgements, criticisms and even praise of those around me. As my brother lovingly told me last month while watching me take in (into my actual body) the energy and moods of a group of people, “wow, you are such a sponge”. I am indeed, and I feel it now more than ever as I finally realize how badly it needs to change. I am slowly learning to create an energetic boundary around myself, but until now, I have not had that ability.

How this relates to my sailing journey (finally, Margie, jeez!), is that I am realizing as I look back that I often allowed the energy and opinions of people around me to shroud my experience of preparing for and completing the Singlehanded Transpac. As single-minded and confident as I was, I allowed myself to be emotionally and energetically pulled into the realm of other people’s emotional realities. I allowed the criticism that I heard and experienced get under my skin and affect my attitude. I allowed myself to feel people’s fears (even when I did not have them for myself). And finally, as comforting as it was most of the time, I realize now that I communicated WAY too much on my actual journey (via satellite tracking device) with the people in my life to the point where their worries, fears and feelings started to infiltrate and affect my daily experience on the boat. I am thankful for modern methods of communication, and for the love and concern of those close to me, but if I had it to do over again, I would seriously limit my communication.

All of that being said, I wouldn't trade a moment of it for anything. There are so many gems that I could never put into words that I experienced on this journey. I am in no way trying to downplay the magnitude of it all. I simply know that I am still mining the depths of the experience as I come out the other side. So I come full circle in this post, and I stand here, open and humbled… ...raw and receptive… waiting for ‘my answers’. 

The Signs of My Undoing

“I caught sight of my reflection

I caught it in the window

I saw the darkness in my heart

I saw the signs of my undoing

They had been there from the start

And the darkness still has work to do

The knotted chord's untying…”

-Peter Gabriel (from The Blood of Eden)

When I gaze into my art studio and see the remnants of my beloved Haunani surrounding the remnants of my once thriving creative practice, I could fall onto my knees in a pile of “my undoing”. I have been fighting hard to stay emotionally afloat and positive amidst the stresses of the world and my life of late, and I see now that that fight is doing nothing but creating more stress. When I heard “Blood of Eden”, one of my favorite songs of all time, this morning on the way to a challenging appointment with the vet, I crumbled. In that teary moment, it became very clear to me that surrender is my only option…surrender to the “knotted chord’s untying”. I am being called to allow myself to unravel and melt into the hard places. I can see (at least for right now, in this lucid and raw moment) that this is my only path to deliverance and healing; that this is the only way to rebuild and reboot so that my offering will be even stronger and clearer. So today I surrendered to the chaos of my studio and my heart and jumped into the river of my feelings. I started to create, and within 5 minutes I could feel the strong arms of my creative lifeline wrapping snuggly around me and keeping me just safe enough, as the rush and flow of my grief and despair swept me away. It is a new beginning…a rekindling of a timeless love. It is in this dive into spirit and into my creative practice that I know I will find what I need.

As I surrender, I am reminded of this passage by Matt Licata……

“It’s okay to be sad, and to allow your heart to break. To fall to the ground and bear witness to the dissolution of a vision of the way things were going to turn out.

Rather than spin away from the death as if it were a defeat, the invitation is to travel inside it. Within the core of the heartbreak there are jewels, and a golden bridge which connects you with others. Now is the time to recommit to what is most important and to remember why you have come.

It’s okay to fall apart, and in this to see if you were ever “together” to begin with. What you are is the vast, majestic field in which “together” and “apart” dance as lovers, revealing to you that the path of the heart is endless. And needs you now more than ever”.

Here is to falling apart in order to come together, because the “darkness still has work to do”.

Sleeping Schedules And Alarm PTSD

I was sitting peacefully on my couch this morning flanked by sleepy dogs and enjoying the musical stylings of Ben Webster as they sublimely graced the airwaves of my home. A perfect cup of coffee was within arm’s reach as I settled in to do my morning writing. I said a little prayer thanking every deity and angel I could think of for the blessing of this moment, this space and this peace. That’s when it happened….THE DREADED ALARM!! It was loud and it was shocking and quickly shook me out of my blissful haze. In that moment on my couch, I was viscerally teleported to any one of my 17 nights in the middle of the Pacific aboard Haunani. It was a surreal auditory memory that in all seriousness still had my heart beating out of my chest several minutes later. The alarm is called “crystals”, and as peaceful as that sounds, trust me, it is not! Crystals has become my official sailing through the night wake up alarm. I originally chose it for its shocking quality and surefire guarantee to roust me from a deep sleep (granted, it would probably not work for everyone but I am a very sensitive and light sleeper). On land I steer clear of the use of it, because the sound of it sends me immediately into high alert, and in my daily life, that is of course, totally unnecessary. High alert so that I can remember to give my dog his heart medications would surely end up giving ME the heart attack! Anyway, I have no idea how that particular alarm ended up as my daily dog med alarm today, but it did, and once I settled down from the shock of it, I started reminiscing about what my nights were like out there trying to sleep as we plummeted through the inky blackness.

My usual bedtime, or more accurately, the beginning of a series of naps, was usually around 8pm. One last check to make sure Haunani could hold her own, then I would set my alarm for an hour or a little more, and try to sleep until my alarm would wake me. My first thought when the dreaded crystals would mockingly commence its shrill tune was often, “where am I?”, then “ok OK OK ……..JEEEEEEZUS!!!!!” (sorry if this offends anyone, but I do say this a fair amount despite my mad love for the sage prophet). Anyway, you get the idea. Its wet, its rocky, I’m tired beyond any kind of tired I have ever experienced, its dark, its surreal, eyes don’t work right, displays are blurry, nothing is where I put it, my written log has fallen into a puddle of water (aka: my cabin sole), and that’s blurry too (“where are my EFFING glasses NOW”??). I could go on and on, but I’m sure you get the idea. Waking up this way is jarring to say the least, but I must say that the heart pounding serves a purpose. It provides just enough juice to do the rounds….chart plotter, am I going the right way? Yes, thank GOD! Check. Any ships in view via AIS? No. Check. Wind: how much, from where, and does that work with how I left my sails? Yep. Check. Companionway horizon scan: any lights, or anything at ALL? No? Check. Sails: are they still trimmed well and doing their thing without under, or mostly in our case, over powering the boat? Yes. Check. Deck and rigging: is all well up there? Anything out of the ordinary? Nope. Phew! Check! Battery monitor. Are my batteries holding enough of a charge in the night? Thanks to my amazing hydro-generator and even though I lost a bank early on, yes! Check. Bilge. Is the disconcerting sloshing of water low enough not to slosh out or do I need to haul my ass on deck to manually pump it out? (Had lots of water coming in and the automatic pump went out early on). Nope, thank GOD! Check. Last but not least, the log. By the red glow of my headlamp I would diligently and exhaustedly scratch the following: lat/long, heading, speed, wind information (true wind speed and angle), barometer reading, and finally, my favorite box: miles to go. Unless something was amiss and needed tending, that was it, then, permission granted to (often literally) fall back into my bunk for another hour or so of precious sleep. Then, repeat......like 8 MORE TIMES!

I dreaded the sleep deprivation thing for months and months leading up to my trip. I had heard and read harrowing tales of everything from being rendered weak and useless to having hallucinations as a result. It terrified me because I am possessively attached to my eight hours! I often joke that if you want to get any secrets out of me, mess with my sleep. People close to me know that despite my gentle disposition, sleep deprivation can unearth a beast that is rivaled only by my L.O.P. (Loss Of Personality), a serious disorder (mostly affecting those around me) that comes from being hungry. Despite my trepidation about it, I must admit, that I was very pleasantly surprised by the ease with which I managed my sleeping schedule and the resulting exhaustion. (A caveat here: except for the last three nights, I was able to take my “naps” all night long every night, so I am well aware that I had that part easy!). As much as I did not like waking up all night, I got oddly used to the schedule, and learned to capitalize on those precious sips of sleep! That being said, I don’t think I need to put myself in that situation again anytime soon. I am cherishing my bed and the luxury of full night sleeps like never before. Now if I could just eradicate that pesky crystals from my phone!

Coming Home To Myself

As the weeks fly by since my return from sea, the details of my voyage are sadly starting to blend together. It’s a bit disconcerting how fast the memories are fading into a snapshot. Granted, it is a larger than life, and oh-so vivid snapshot that is forever emblazoned on my brain, but from where I sit now in my comfy backyard sipping on a glass of red, it is easy to start romanticizing and encapsulating the whole experience. My voyage is surely deserving of some romanticization, but it is more so deserving of being memorialized with radical honesty. Even though my sail across the Pacific transcends most things in my life, I feel the same about it as I do all of my life’s experiences: it would be nothing without all of its peaks and valleys. In my opinion, the valleys of any experience seem to produce the most gems and it is in those challenging and dark moments that I find my deepest transformation. Life is alchemy if I allow it to be so. This trip was certainly no exception and I am finding out more each day just to what extent I have been and continue to be transformed.

I cannot tell you how many people told me before I left things like “you will be different when you get back”, and “this trip is going to change you”. Because I agreed, (I mean, how could I not return a changed woman after over 2 weeks alone at sea?), I kept searching for the sure to be monumental change in myself as the days ticked away out there. I have continued searching for it after landfall…partially in order to be able to answer all of the eager questions to that effect. Was I changed? Am I somehow more evolved or confident as a result of this epic trip? Well, although I certainly feel something major has shifted, and continues to shift in me, to be honest I don’t feel that different. What I do feel, after much soul searching however, is a deeper sense of who I already knew myself to be. Maybe that IS what they meant by different, either way, it certainly is a powerful revelation for me.

As I have mentioned many times, my whole trip except for a few days was very rough. I think there was a part of me that was minimizing or doubting that fact based on my lack of experience with such things. I would hear my Dad’s and brother’s tales of their crossings…. relaxing book reading sessions on the foredeck, or peaceful sunset happy hours in the cockpit… echoing in my brain as I clung on to various handholds on my heaving vessel under stormy skies. No one said anything about being tossed about violently while barreling along in 25-30 knot winds, where trying to imbibe a sip of water let alone wine in the cockpit would be a challenge. Still, I rolled with it thinking that maybe I had heard wrong….or more accurately, maybe this really wasn’t so rough after all. Thankfully I didn’t have to rely on my videos to validate anything, because they make my trip look like a walk in the park (I still don’t get why). Upon my arrival to Hanalei, the magnitude of the atypical conditions was promptly corroborated by two 5-time veterans of this race. One said, “you sure picked the worst year ever to do this race”, and they each said to me separately that it was the roughest trip they have ever had. Bittersweet, but the good news to me was the confirmation that I was not losing my marbles or exaggerating the intensity of what I just went through in my mind….PHEW! When I look back on it, I am not sure how I ever questioned myself, because there really was no respite from Haunani’s violent movement for most of my trip. We rarely saw wind under 20 knots, and it was more like 27-35 most of the time.

When I decided to join this race, I was acutely aware of the fact that I was a greenhorn. I had no offshore experience, not even on a crewed trip. At that point, my longest and roughest trip had been a sail with my dad from Maui to Hawaii Island in 1985. In fact until I arrived in the SF bay, I had only sailed in wind over 20 knots a handful of times, most of which were in the last year. To be honest, I was probably more tuned into what I lacked in experience than I should have been, to the point of being really tough on myself and feeling like I had to justify my choice to pursue this goal to the more experienced sailors in my life. At the same time, however, I also had a deep sense of the fact that I would be able to handle it. I had my fears of course, but as I have said before, I knew that “it was in me”. This deep knowing is what I believe has been deeply strengthened and elevated as a result of my journey, because what I found out out there in the “watery disk”, is that exactly what I needed is indeed in me…and then some.

What I am about to share is hard for me to talk about, because of my aversion to sounding cocky, aka: playing big, but I think it is important. I think that so many of us, especially women, downplay our innate strengths as a result of societal conditioning and consequential bad habits. I am certainly guilty of this. I can say now that the (at first unknown) underlying reason for setting out on this journey was to unravel this habit. I have been called out many times for playing small, as well as for being critical of myself and downplaying my strengths. One of the last things one of my mentors said to me before I left was “ your capabilities are far beyond what you think they are Margie”. I heard various versions of the same thing from people close to me as I prepared to leave. I didn’t fully take it in because it was more comfortable to be invested in some deep-rooted negative belief (that could oddly co-exist with my innate confidence). So here is the nugget that I have come away with and I believe I finally truly understand. Tears actually come to my eyes as I write this. My investment in playing small and the fact that it can co-exist with my innate confidence is all because of a deep fear of how people might react if I rise into the biggest version of myself. I have craved the ability to step into my power and confidence and have strived dilligently for it over the years, all the while undermining it with aforementioned stupid habit.  Well, maybe it’s not totally stupid because I am sure it served to protect me on some level as a kid or adolescent, but as I approach the mid century mark, I see it for what it is: complete and utter bullshit! It serves no one, least of all me. My time at sea has pulled this into sharp focus and has made me realize something huge: The reason I like to sail alone is that I do not have to play small. I knew I could not accomplish this feat of sailing to Hawaii by doing so, even though I clung fiercely to it until the moment I pulled away from the dock. And when I am around others, especially those I perceive to know more than me or have more experience than me, I all too easily step away from my own power and into that small place. When I am alone, however, I do no such thing. My wish for myself is to be able to integrate these two things and live my daily life the way I lived at sea, where I felt safe and entitled to be the full version of myself. No apologies, no explanations, no rationalizations, no tiptoeing.....just full-on unadulterated me.

What I saw clearly out there was a strong and capable woman, who despite some moaning and groaning didn’t get rattled by much. People keep asking me if I was scared out there, and my honest answer is no. I wasn’t, and it wasn’t because there did not exist scary things, it was because I knew in my guts that I had it in me to handle what came my way. There are people who have questioned my abilities and expertise, but at the end of the day, I knew, and then just to be sure, proved it to myself, that I could take care of business out there. Of course I needed support and encouragement, but it is like life….just because I allow myself to be vulnerable and ask for help or support, does not mean I am weak or incapable. In fact I think asking for help is one of the bravest things we can do. Admitting our human-ness and embracing vulnerability is a huge strength. My tendency to do so is often mistaken for weakness, but as I sailed alone out there in the great blue, I felt no weakness….only wholeness.

I realize that I need to now embody that wholeness in my daily life. I think that the reason people might mistake my vulnerability for weakness at times is because I allow it, and even play into it. My commitment to myself from now on is to STOP IT (seriously, click that link and watch the video...its hilarious!). I hope anyone else who struggles with this will join me. We are doing a disservice to the world by not living from and sharing the full version of who we are. I believe that as a result of this voyage, this is finally starting to shift in me. If by sharing my struggles and successes with this huge change, I can offer even a morsel of inspiration for even one other person to step into the glory of themselves, I will be so happy. We can all keep reminding each other!!  Deal?

**If you want to read more about the power of vulnerability, please do yourself a favor and check out any and all work by one of my heroes, Brene’ Brown. Here are a few links:

Her TED talk on the topic that went viral

She has written many books on the topic, but my favorite is Daring Greatly

A Letter To Myself

This is my way of processing some recent disappointing rumblings of negativity surrounding my voyage. This is a letter to myself and anyone else who needs it…a reminder…a manifesto. I wrote it as if I had written it to a loved one in my shoes and it is heavily inspired by all of the beautiful and supportive words that have been shared with me by so many lovely souls in my life throughout this journey. Thank you lovely souls (yes, YOU)!

Dear Margie,

First of all, YOU  F**KING  DID  IT !!!!!!!!!! You set your sights on a lofty ass goal and 10 months later sailed across the finish line. You allowed all of the love and support in your life to buoy you through the triumphs, trials and tribulations along the path that led you to the moment you pulled away from the dock in San Francisco and sailed 2500 miles alone across the sea to Hanalei. It may not have been perfectly executed (yes, I saw the zig zag of (how many?) unnecessary jibes as you clung to the imaginary security blanket of that rhumb line, and I also watched you get mistakenly lured up into the becalming Pacific high for 2 days (ouch!). Oh, and that time you tacked 6 times in 2 hours in your last 2 days because you couldn’t figure out which line to the island was best and kept doubting your choice …..I saw that too). You may not have had as much technical experience as others, and I know that your fear of touching anything electrical probably was NOT your best asset on the trip.

What I also know though is that despite all of that, you never got scared out there, and the deep well of courage and strength cultivated over your twisty turny 48 years served you well as you barreled through breaking pacific swells larger than your boat with a smile on your face. All of that therapy and writing you have done since you were 20….well thank God for THAT! A hard earned foundation from which to draw in the midst of situations that could potentially have sent you, or anyone, reeling into self doubt and panic. The calm with which you handled so many nightmarish occurrences (from inundations of gallons of sea water, to battery failure, to your auto pilot malfunctioning and doing a donut while you were precariously perched on the foredeck (in the midst of huge swells and 25 knots of wind), to the loss of your drinking water, to food going bad, to never receiving position reports or any communications from the race committee, to sea sickness, to not being able to download grib files… to name a few) is a testament to your grit and also to your badass parents who modeled this your whole life as two of the most capable and calm people ever. The humor with which you handled all of the aforementioned things is astounding, if not a little embarrassing (yes, I have seen the videos!). I am proud of you, and honestly, not for all of the things I just listed, but because you left that dock in Tiburon and sailed out to sea without looking back once until you arrived at your destination. What you just did is a true metaphor for life. Head in the direction you intend to go and deal with whatever comes your way as you go along with all the strength, grace and humor you can muster. That, my friend is a huge accomplishment and one that no one can take from you, hater or otherwise. It is YOURS, so own it! Own every little piece of it from the glorious to the horrid. That is what living and growing is all about, but then again you already knew that!

With the biggest deepest love,

Margie

thank you crescent moon

I have been lying awake since 330am full of nerves. I finally got out of my bunk at 445 and put on some coffee. when I glanced out of the companionway I saw the beautiful moon hanging in the sky. a crescent new moon reminding me in her steadfast way of the opportunity for growth, new beginnings and mainly that all is well. while I was lying here in my bunk half awake, I was drawing on the strength that everyone's cards, texts, emails and calls have given. I have been distracted and not always able to respond, but each expression of love and support has helped to keep me grounded and focused on my goal.

despite all the love and support around me, I have had to pull into myself and feel what is real for me and me only.  as my departure has drawn near I have been faced with some loved ones' fears, worries and well meaning warnings. I definitely understand where they are coming from and feel the love behind them but now is not the time to listen to anything but my own counsel. I do not mean to be rude or dismissive in not taking on their concerns but i have had to draw a firm line. this line I believe, is the beginning of my actual journey. a journey to myself and my truth. One of my go to habits in life has been to allow others opinions to sway me or out of fear of upsetting another not being true to my own inner compass. I can feel that those days are over and this journey has been leading me to the point where I can truly see that and integrate it into my own growth. this feels huge this morning as I sit in the dark of my beloved Haunani with the wink of the crescent moon beckoning me to follow her to deeper waters and a deeper knowing of myself.

I will be sailing away tomorrow holding the intention of sailing one mile at a time the best way I know how. I have what I need inside me to face anything that comes my way from the physical to he emotional and I welcome all of the  transformation I know that will bring. I am truly humbled by his experience so far and I know it is only the beginning.  

this was written on my phone at 5 am. pleas forgive any typos or weird formatting :-)) 

ONE WEEK FROM TODAY!!!!!!!!!

I woke up this morning with a giddy sense of excitement and wonder…..I cannot believe that I leave ONE WEEK FROM TODAY! I just walked out on the porch and took in the beauty of the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge in the morning light. I said a little prayer of gratitude for how far I have come and all I have learned since I decided to take this on. And then I visualized Haunani and I sailing under the majestic beauty of that iconic landmark and out to sea.

I have been vacillating between excitement and nervousness…confidence and imposter syndrome…..centeredness and hurriedness….it has all (and then some) been a part of the journey so far. I am sure the nerves will kick in big time this week, but right now I feel really good. I feel resolved and ready. Despite my autopilot issue still being worked out, I have a sense of trust that all that is necessary will fall into place. I cannot feel any other way actually, because until now that is exactly what has happened. Every step of the way, the exact right solution, answer, repair, adventure (and so on) has fallen into place exactly as it was meant to. As I have said before, I have never felt so universally supported in any other endeavor in my life as I have in this one. I am so grateful to have experienced this support, because it has fostered in me a deep sense of trust in the flow of life. That’s not to say that will and intention have not had a huge role, because they have, but the seamless flow of all things leading to this day has supported those efforts and has been pretty awe inspiring.

The challenging moments have been an important part of the flow as well, because I have had to face some things in myself that are very necessary for my own growth and healing. I have had to face in a new way, my annoying and harmful (to self) tendency to allow my deep knowledge of myself and my inner strength to be put aside for the emotional comfort of another. I have finally realized on a deep level how unnecessary and unhealthy it is to do this or to make myself small (or throw myself under the bus) in the face of tough personalities or another's emotional needs. I have been called to stand firm in my beliefs when questioned and walk my own path no matter what forces were/are pulling at me.

The bottom line is that I have had to learn to find my own answers and my own way no matter what is going on around me, for this is no one’s journey but mine. I bow in deep gratitude to all of my friends and family who unconditionally support me in my goal (and even the ones that don’t), but when all is said and done, it is only me sailing off into the pacific. I suppose that is why I call this my vision quest, because every step of the way has been leading me to the necessary moment of pulling away from all extraneous energy and opinion and into my own truth and experience. I have been traveling towards this moment for my whole life, and I am so very grateful for the opportunity to get to truly be with myself and get to know myself in a way I can yet not fathom.

Lovely Friends

I am finally settling into a groove up here in the Bay Area. I am so blessed to have a safe haven at my brother and sister in law’s beautiful home in Tiburon while Haunani has her own little spot nearby. She is snuggled away at Paradise Cay Yacht Harbor, whose stewards have been beyond kind and generous to this wayward traveler! It is seriously a little slice of heaven and I am so lucky to be there! I am loving getting to know the bay and all of its nuances. Sailing here is definitely awesome and inspiring! Yesterday was my 1st solo sail up here, and it was definitely one for my personal record books. Vigilance and being on point were called for to a degree that I have never experienced. It was a great test of my skills and focus. The thing that struck me the most was the changeability and extremes. All of the land formations and the patterns they create are certainly interesting! I loved every moment, and am so grateful for this time to acclimate and practice before the big day.

I want to say a special thank you to my sweet and fierce soul sisters, Silvia and Gabi, who schlepped all the way up here last weekend from Venice in my truck to transport stuff and help me in my preparations. Their generosity and enthusiasm for my cause knows no bounds, and as much as I already knew this, this trip really took it to a new level. There was organizing, cleaning, anchor chain moving (no small feat in an old rickety wheel barrow), cooking, errand running, MUCH laughter, sailing…you name it. Logistics aside, the thing that I needed the most was their presence. Just having them here gave me such solace, and I am sure it was no mistake that they happened to be here when I had my hardest day to date in this whole adventure. My autopilot started acting up again, and as a result, I was stricken with severe anxiety, to the point that my stomach was in knots and I would burst into tears at the drop of a hat. I could barely focus on conversations because I was so consumed with worry (this is not like me either). That of course opened a can of worms that revealed all of the hidden anxieties about what I am about to take on. Along with my baby brother (who is a total rock), they helped me through a really tough couple of days with tenderness, kindness and some tough love to boot. I am so grateful!

Saying goodbye to my friends was really hard, but by providing me such a safe place to process all of my fears and let down a little (not to mention have some fun), they left me feeling ready to take it all on again! I will definitely be taking them with me on my journey!