Tuesday, January 6, 2015


Sea smoke and George's Island
As I drove with Cheryl to the Halifax airport today, looking out on a bitterly cold harbor, with billows of artic sea smoke rolling down the narrows, I think about how not much has changed since I left Nova Scotia for the long-haul when I was 27. I feel lucky that I have changed though, and I am now able to look at my hometown with a new perspective; I see opportunity and possibilities for a fulfilling life that, despite always loving my city, I honestly could never fully see before. Despite awaking to a minus 30 degree wind-chill on the morning of departure, winter almost seems tolerable, and worth bearing.

My plans are still quite vague, but what I do know for certain is that I cannot be in Miami right now, and the Bahamas are only a day-sail away. Knowing what you don’t want is perhaps as valuable as knowing what you do want, especially if what you do want is not currently realistic.

Scotty on a tugboat ride
I’ve been accumulating ‘last times’ in Miami; my last haul-out for the boat, my last Critical Mass bike ride, last tugboat ride, last swim at Venetian Pool… soon will be my last swing dance, my last camping trip in the Everglades, and my last night at anchor in No Name Harbor before setting sail for the Bahamas.

As I search for leads on how to make life decisions in the coming weeks, I have whittled my thoughts down to a few basics, and these are things I know: first and foremost, friends mean more to me than anything else on this earth, and I need them.  And I know I cannot be with someone who cannot be alone. I also know I don’t want to sit aboard a boat that doesn’t move anymore. I think the combination of these factors provide a solid, if mottled, foundation with which I can begin to construct a meaningful life, and move on from the general confusion and uncertainty that has followed me since moving to Miami.

I feel good about being alone right now; about knowing it’s a choice, and whatever comes next, I’m happy with myself and where I am (figuratively speaking, of course). It’s much better to be alone than to live in the delusion that someone else is able to fill a void that can ultimately only be filled on your own.

Rainy Christmas Day on the Northwest Arm
Talk is cheap, and getting cheaper as I grow older.  I’m becoming more adept at seeing through people when they claim to feel one way or another.  If words aren’t accompanied with a reflection in the form of action, they’re meaningless, and slightly offensive because of the thoughtlessness behind them.  I’ve wasted enough time on people who offhandedly throw notions on the table in an attempt to keep their options open.

A friend said it so well the other day: you know the truth by the way it feels.

And today feels like a great day to start over.