Begin with a strong northerly wind of about 15 knots, add novices in a small dingy, and mix in a paralyzing fear. Stir this mixture with a zealous sailing instructor who want the sails trimmed in with the boat sailing at the maximum speed. Let simmer for too many minutes, and then turn up my fear to maximum, and you have a recipe for chaos on the water.
So, we rigged the boat, which we're getting pretty good at. Then we set off. The wind was blowing pretty forcefully tonight, but there weren't whitecaps. I didn't feel any fear as we set off. I was happy to finally be sailing with my friend, who by the way was the reason that I took this second sailing class against my better judgment. She is extremely calm and level-headed. I felt a bit more confident in the boat. We started out doing well.
She crewed, and I was at the helm. We maneuvered our way out of the marina toward the marks that our instructor set for us. The wind was much stronger than we'd sailed in before, and I worked very hard at keeping the boat going as slowly as possible. In hindsight, I was probably working twice as hard as I would've been if I'd just sailed the boat closer to the wind, but hindsight (especially from my desk) is always sharper than it was in my moments of sheer terror.
But, I stuck to the plan that the fear in my head created: Let the sails out, steer so the sails flap a bit, and then tack frequently so that the boat doesn't build too much speed. I think at this point, my crew noticed my fearful control and sarcastically said, "Well, we wouldn't want to go too far out of our comfort zone."
I quickly said, "I'm already way out of my comfort zone. You have no idea. I'm working really hard to keep this boat going slowly."
The instructor offered well-intentioned advice to trim the sails and to steer closer to the wind; he's an excellent sailor and wanted to instruct us in how to sail better. But every time he yelled instructions, the fear in my head said, "Don't listen to him. I don't want to sail too close to the wind. I'm working hard at not going too fast." Each of these interactions poked and inflamed my anxiety.
Finally, I'm not exactly sure what happened to be honest, but the boom slammed across the boat and hit me in the head. I let the mainsail sheet (rope) go, and I'm not sure if I held on to the tiller or not. It happened really fast in fast wind, and I sat on the floor of the boat and sighed deeply.
My sailing partner asked me if I was ok, and I said, "Yes." She turned and looked at me and asked if I was sure that I was ok. I looked at her defeated and admitted, "No. I'm not ok."
Then our Irish sailing instructor came over in the motor boat. He told my partner what to do with the jib as he came along our boat.
I honestly don't remember much of what he said. I turned my head away from him. I didn't want him to see my fear, and I didn't want to hear what he was saying. I had prayed. Why didn't it work? I was losing faith in everyone.
Desperate to get him to ease up, I said, "I'm terrified. I'm terrified. It's a phobia. I am scared. I don't want to do this. It's too windy. I'm done."
My sailing buddy said, "What's the worst thing that can happen? We tip the boat, and we're in the water. It's no big deal." The instructor agreed.
Yes, they were very logical; I wasn't.
Every cell in my body screamed, "DROWN! The worst thing is that I drown, and my friend drowns. I don't want to drown, and I don't want her to drown." Instead, I stopped talking, extremely rare for me. I simply shut down.
He was adament that I was going to continue to sail.The final decision was that for the safety of everyone, he would tow us back to the course, and I agreed to stay near the course. I reluctantly agreed.
My sailing buddy was very supportive, completely aware that she was in a boat with Fear personified. I could've had a sticker on my shirt that said, "Hello my name is Fear."
When I handed the tiller over, I was still scared, but markedly less. It was somehow less scary to let someone with much less experience take control. This seems illogical, which is the theme of a paralyzing fear, but at least I wasn't responsible for our lives. I was willing to support her, and as she experimented, I moved my body to keep the boat in a more upright position. It was just about bearable.
As I sit now, hours later at my desk safely on land, I am willing to pause and reflect.
First, my sailing buddy was such a gift. She remained calm, cool, and collected when I was completely terrified. I felt her support, and I am blessed that we were in the boat together. She remains calm in the midst of a chaotic and fearful storm. I want to learn how to do that. I keep facing fears, and I obviously need to learn to handle those times differently. I truly do want to find the calm in the midst of the storm, rather than hours after the storm has passed. I set my intention to find the calm.
As an insightful teenager pointed out, everything shifted when I admitted outloud that I was afraid. Yes, it is a gift that I was able to label the complete terror as a phobia. I didn't say it for noble reasons; I just wanted him to give me a little space. Instead, by saying that I was afraid, it lessened. I guess facing and honoring the dark parts of me that I want to hide in shame frees me from their grip. I need to face the monsters that lurk in the shadows because then I see that they're not monsters, but opportunities to heal and grow. I set my intention to grow by speaking my Truth.
In terms of sailing, I'm very happy that I'm done with this class. I've had so many opportunities for growth, and for that I'm grateful. I have developed more self-confidence in myself as a crew for my husband's boat. I have learned a lot about sailing and myself. That is a gift. I must also confess that I'm happy to be a sailing widow or crew, rather than a sailor myself.
I am blessed, and for that I am grateful.
Namaste,
L
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