Cabin Fever

Clockwise:Not all our walks are on the beach, Linda on beach,Not all beaches are pristine-Atlantic garbage

For several days now we have been confined to the boat, imprisoned by the wind and waves which have been plaguing the Bahamas this year. And with no TV and few diversions, introspection is unavoidable. Thankfully, due to my daily dose of “Prosac” each morning, the edge has been taken off my fears, worries and the obsessive nature of my personality this time round--much to Vince’s relief. But, as drugs are wont to do, it has also altered my sense of reality. I notice this especially when I re-read my blogs. Same season, same place as the last trip--but the situations which attract my attention and my reactions to them this time round are very different. For the most part, events experienced with the aid of “Prosac” are seen through rose coloured glasses. And it’s very difficult for me to break through the fog of my euphoria and clearly identify and describe unsettling feelings which I sense lurking somewhere in the further recesses of my mind. I know they ARE there because increasingly I awake at night with disturbing dreams of images from the past. Here are some of the things that have been bothering me:

1.Approach/Avoidance

I long to return home to see my family and friends. At the same time I can’t help thinking about those that are no longer there. Uncle Ken, Aunt Clarissa, Mac and Amy! That whole wonderful family is decimated now with only Bonnie and Ann remaining. And when I think of walking around the block back home in Troy, too many of the houses I’ll pass no longer hold my friends who have been taken by the ravages of cancer. I can’t even look forward to lunch with my old teaching buddies without knowing I’ll hear of yet another colleague stricken with some horrible illness.

Here, we are all active and healthy--as are all of the people we meet with day after day. True, bad things happen. Broken fingers, cracked ribs, torn ligaments and nasty gouges seem to be a weekly occurrence here--but at least they’re not life-threatening. Here we are active and healthy--as are all of the people we meet with day after day. Here we are happy and carefree. The sun shines and there is laughter and good times. But as much as I enjoy cruising with these kindred spirits, they are NOT my family. And after a day of fun is over there still remains an ache the next morning, to get back home and be with my children, siblings and old friends--despite knowing that may also mean being immersed in regret, worry and sadness. Approach/Avoidance.

1. The Cruising Life

It never ceases to amaze me how many interesting and fun-loving people there are aboard boats. Back home Vince and I often felt that we didn’t “fit in.” But here, despite coming from all corners of North America and from every conceivable background imaginable, we have so much in common with each other. We are adventurers all! Appearances mean nothing. Our husbands look beneath our unvarnished exteriors and into our souls, loving us deeply for the companionship and comfort we bring onto our boats. The women wear no make-up. Hairstyles are comfortable and there is no competition for looks, clothes or prestige. We are fat and skinny, old and young, but bonded together by the same feelings. We have all given up the same things to be with our men. We all face the same fears (and most of us are on the same medications!) We exist with the same sparse possessions and give each other hugs and support every day.

But despite these obvious similarities, there are some very real differences. Not all of us have homes and families to return to. Many cruisers have no material possessions except their boat and what little there is on it. The only constant in many of their lives is each other and, after a decade or more of living on the water, I can’t imagine what they would do if one of them was to die. Having long ago broken any ties to land-based family and friends, there is no home or people for many of them to return to. Some are into 2nd relationships. Their own children are a thing of the past. They’ve moved on. I can’t understand how they can cut those bonds, but they have. And many men are completely alone in their boats with only a dog. The transience of the cruising community is hard to get used to. You’ll be sailing with a “group” for a week--best friends all--and then it just breaks apart as people decide that going to a different destination is more important than staying together. A bit like trying to herd cats. And suddenly you find yourselves alone again. Granted, it’s easy to make NEW friends because others don’t want to sail alone either, but I always find it unsettling when the break-ups occur. It’s then that you think about going home again--to the people you’ve known forever and who are always there. And then the “approach/avoidance thing hits. I guess the drugs are a good thing. They keep all these conflicting thoughts and feelings at bay. And you just live in a present tense--never worrying about the future or regretting things past. But when you’re cabin bound, there’s little to do but to “think” and feel a bit “sick” about the way things are in life. I guess that’s why they call it cabin fever.