Slow Sailing

Recovery isn't linear, and neither is starting a business. Especially one that involves boats. Things don't always go according to plan. Stuff breaks and people relapse. It's inevitable, yet we persevere. Needless to say, there have been some roadblocks in getting everyone on the water. I will say that I am grateful to be creating, and for those of you who have purchased merchandise and have made donations. Currently, we're waiting to fix or replace the starter motor on Odd'sea. Or, more accurately, waiting for my mechanic to become available to have a look at it and troubleshoot the issue.

Donnie's a great guy, just an extremely busy one. He has 3 fishing boats and often helps others with their boats when he's not out fishing. This man can fix anything; therefore, he's in high demand. We recently had a great run up the Fraser River where we pulled one of his vessels out of the water to scrape and repaint the hull. It was a week of hard work, but it was extremely fulfilling, and we had a lot of time to bond. We shared war stories, cracked jokes, and ate banh mi and tortas while drinking NA beers.

Since then, I've been busy at home setting up the HQ. Now the office has 2 desks, and some shelving is on the way. I need a large, purposeful space dedicated to my work; otherwise, my ADHD takes over and I get distracted. My old desk was a tiny one in my living room, which I was barely able to use. This space will double as an art studio as well, allowing me to paint larger pieces and experiment with more mediums. It also has windows on 2 sides, flooding it with natural light, which I love.

Fortunately, the local sailing season runs late into the year, so there will be plenty of time for sailing. In the meantime, I can continue to upgrade Odd'seas' cabin and creature comforts. This is always ongoing, and although she needs a lot of work, her potential is limitless, and I have a solid vision. So far, the interior has been stripped of old, crappy incandescent lighting, some instrumentation that wasn't working or outdated, and the pièce de resistance: the microwave in the washroom. (barf) Planned upgrades include recessed LED light strips, an aluminum saloon table, penny tiles in the washroom, and new cushions and a quilted headliner. A major long-term plan is to replace the diesel motor with an electric one.

All in all, this has been a good lesson in patience. I know things are progressing, and even though it's been slow, it's still progress. I am trusting the process, and as soon as we're ready I know how busy I will be on and off the water. More soon.

All is lost

The year was 2022, around the time of my 40th birthday, when I began to notice an intense feeling that something was very wrong. I couldn't quite pinpoint what it was, but it was so omnipresent that it seemed as though everything was wrong. On the surface, my life was great. I had a partner who loved me, a slick pad in Gastown, and a high-paying job. I had spent much of my 30s traveling overseas, dining out and cooking delicious food, enjoying great entertainment and nightlife, plus I picked up a dream hobby: sailing

Even the pandemic was good to me. I was getting paid by the government to “isolate” and sail all summer for 2 years in a row. But not long after going back to work, I fell into a deep depression, and it felt like I was heading towards a catastrophic end. Was this it for me? Was I going to waste away as a miserable drunk in a dead-end job, never being able to retire? How much longer would I be able to live downtown? Nothing was affordable anymore. WAS I STILL HAPPY IN MY RELATIONSHIP? I felt like my entire life was a facade that was about to come crashing down. But I didn't know what to do, so I drank more and more, and used other substances, nearly every night.

I didn't care about anything other than numbing everything. My relationship fell apart, I had to move out of downtown, and despite winning employee of the month again that year I knew my nearly 20 year career was over. I barely went sailing anymore. I knew had to change my entire life but I didn't know how to, or even where to begin.

During this time, I met someone. Someone on their own path of healing. She would introduce me to meditation, self-care, the importance of rest, and the idea that I could build the life I'd dreamed of. I was so desperate to believe her, but when I took a really hard look at myself, it seemed impossible. I slipped even harder into my despair. My reckless drinking was spiraling out of control, and she couldn't take it anymore; she had to save herself.

I wasn't sure what recovery meant or even looked like, but I started to attend meetings and enrolled in peer support groups. After some time, I was able to string a couple of sober weeks together, then a month, then months. But relapse after relapse crushed my spirit, led me to getting robbed, cost me my job, and finally put me in the hospital. Yet I persevered.

At first, I was terrified of being sober. How would I meet people? What would I do for fun? How could I ever talk to women? I thought I was an extrovert, but my confidence was shot by the years of self-destruction. Yet I knew it was life and death, but I felt like I was damned if I didn't, damned if I did.

Slowly but surely, I found more programs. More support. I started meeting more allies in recovery, and I was making friends unlike I had ever had before. They were honest, beautifully flawed, genuinely authentic people, and we shared our stories of battling unimaginable demons on a quest for survival.

I learned that connection was the opposite of addiction, and that my isolation was killing me. I needed purpose, I needed to be with people, and I needed to give myself the love that I had inside me.

It was then that I fully understood what I had to do.