Unexpected Consequences

The seasons shifted instantly in Anacortes this year. Warm sunny days became cold rainy ones literally overnight one September evening. Just as I began wondering if I was going to have a dry day to mow the lawn in my parents’ yard before we left, the sun came out – and the temperatures plummeted when the chilly north winds chased the thick clouds away. Frost painted grass and cars white every morning. Andy wondered why there was smoke coming out of his mouth, and Dylan asked why the red car’s heater wasn’t strong enough. And with that drop in temperature came the realization that our return to warmer climes was imminent.

Words didn’t flow for me this summer and fall as I had planned they would. Recovery and daily life took precedence over inspiration and creation. Top of the priority list was avoiding the Mexican heat and hurricanes, earning some money, getting Dylan evaluated, and regaining our psychological footing. Oh, and teaching Andy to swim. Revealing our not-so-hidden type-A personalities, I have to say that we did manage to accomplish those goals, but it was the unexpected consequences of those actions that proved to be more significant and meaningful and allowed us to know ourselves better.

Yes, we avoided the heat and hurricanes of a Mexican summer, though not before we put in quite a few 100+ degree days in June and July. It forced a conversation about the reality of cruising in hot weather climates and – with a nod to the fact that we could certainly do more to acclimate our Northwest bodies to the heat – an unapologetic admission that we simply do not like hot weather the way so many others do. A cool climate, even with all its gray and rain, will call us home.

We also put a few more dollars in the bank account, though a jury summons and slow billing processes threatened to hijack our financial buffer. Tom (a PA) worked at a psychiatric hospital for the summer and fall – a job that meant two hours of commuting each day but at least paid him well and gave him the ability to be home most nights. Still, even with a job he enjoyed, the stress hit immediately and with it the realization that a year was not enough time off to recover from twelve years of intense medicine in broken medical system. But Tom loves medicine and is very good at it, so we decided the trick is to figure out a way for Tom to work a bit less. Sounds easy, but this is in a field where 40 hours a week is often considered part-time and in an economy where two full-time jobs are practically required to keep up a household. It will require some minimizing, but luckily this sailing trip has already prepared us well for that.

This realization came conveniently at about the same moment that I admitted out loud that I miss working. Right now, I work as our family documentarian and researcher; the navigator and paperwork organizer; the meal planner, provisioner, and preparer; the teacher, tutor, and librarian; the playmate and disciplinarian; the chief financial officer and crew maintenance engineer. And though I’m sure I’m selling myself short, I don’t feel that I am doing any of these particularly well. This summer I researched cat travel logistics, visa timelines, country entry requirements, budget, boat-school ideas, and autism (all of which will get posts of their own). I also worked at keeping the kids alive and healthy-ish: cooking, feeding, shopping, doctor’s and dentist appointments, therapy sessions, swim lessons, library and museum visits. This is all to say that it is hard work, and a lot of it. But despite reading through so many books about the joys of homeschooling and blog posts about the freedom of cruising – I simply do not get the same satisfaction in this lifestyle than I do from going to work. So, the unexpected consequence of a life away from “work?” I was able to say out loud that I miss working. And I’m okay with that.

Yes, we got Dylan evaluated, and yes, we received a diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder that swept us up in a tumbling, suffocating tsunami wave for a while. But the wonderful unintended consequence of that diagnosis was that it allowed us to start repairing our relationships with Dylan. As I became more flexible, so his defiance and rigidity eased. As I learned to use different language and to frame his behavior to him, he less often tipped over the edge of the “crazy” precipice. As he spent two months in school, I had more time to myself and with Andy, and Dylan seemed to get excited about learning again, or at least to engage in the fun routines of school. And as his behavior moderated, his brother’s anger eased a little. We have a long way to go, but at least Dylan will crawl into my lap every morning to read Calvin and Hobbes, and he is more willing to spend time with me than to push me away. I’ll take it.

So, are we on better psychological footing? Yes, absolutely. By the end of our four and a half months in Anacortes, we were all antsy to return to our boat. Dylan told every stranger he met that we were going back to Mexico soon, and Andy grew especially impatient in the last two weeks, always sure that we were leaving that day. In our conversations about whether to continue and how long we wanted to continue, we decided that we are committed to getting to Australia, but we are likely to skip Japan and Alaska on this trip (still no promises; cruising plans are written in low-tide sand). Ideally, we would like to have the kids back in school by the fall of 2021. Somehow, instead of producing a feeling of disappointment, this has given me more energy and courage and excitement to continue (though I can’t say the same for Tom, who is disappointed at the prospect of missing Japan by boat). And saying out loud that I miss working has given me a sense of peace. The weird work dreams that plagued me for the past year and half have ceased.

Last but not least, Andy learned to swim! This has been a major challenge for this little guy, who spent his first group lesson screaming, splashing and hitting the other children, and whining constantly that it was too noisy and too crowded. I whisked him away and put him in the very capable hands of Trevor Johnson, who worked his magic on this reluctant 5-year old. Andy started his first lesson by crying, screaming, and taking a full 12 minutes to get near the edge of the pool. Within a few weeks, he didn’t want to get out of the pool after the lesson, and within a month, he was swimming for ten seconds on his own. Not drown-proof yet, but swimming and having fun doing it! The unexpected consequence? The women in the water aerobics class at the time Andy had his lessons got so much joy out of watching Andy improve. Twice a week, they would gush about how much fun it was to watch Andy learn, what an amazing teacher Trevor was, and what a great job Andy was doing. Though Andy was shy and somewhat unresponsive, I think the encouragement and praise must have helped build his confidence. He is a different kid in the water now, and it is a joy to watch him swim.

This brief time back in Anacortes was perhaps not exactly what we expected. And it certainly wasn’t easy; tears flowed often. But we achieved what we needed. It didn’t come in the form of the verbatim goals we had set out for ourselves, but in those unexpected developments that emerged as a result of those goals and from being forced to confront our own fears, desires, needs, and purpose.

We loved the time with family and friends. We loved the hikes in the cool fir and cedar forests. We got to see both kids blossom in school. We remembered why we love the Pacific Northwest. We appreciated the time to step back and and analyze our needs a little closer. We enjoyed our brief time at “home.” But we also felt the pull that all itinerant souls do – the pull of the next place, of the next adventure, of learning the next piece of the unknown – and the unconscious pull to define home.

Informational Addendum: We’re now in Puerto Penasco (Rocky Point), about an hour from the Arizona border. While the boat was torn apart for boat projects, all four of us and the cat lived in a small hotel room for eight days with no fridge, microwave, coffee maker, or functioning bathroom door, but it was really cheap and only one block from the boatyard. It also happened to be on the party street in town – Calle 13 – complete with red lights and table dancers, and the music on weekend evenings went on until well past 3 a.m. Ask how we know.

While that was fun while it lasted, we were awfully eager to get back in the water. Thanks to help from Salvador Cabrales and his amazing crew at the Cabrales Boatyard, we got back in the water today and are all happy to be floating again. I was also thrilled to be able to have my galley back after 16 days without a kitchen. So, what do I make? Tacos? As if we couldn’t have walked a block and paid half the price of what it cost to buy the groceries. But they were so satisfying. It’s good to be home.