On boat dwelling

At some point, I must leave school early to help overhaul the carburetors. Otherwise, I doubt it will ever be a priority for the mechanic. But today, team project is the priority with the internal review looming.

Why am I still struggling up-stream? After 20 years living aboard boats with occasional sabbaticals in verious eclectic let rooms, I am still absorbed by the water. It's not even a habit - it's a conscious decision every time I wake up to a new leak, a power outage or icicles hanging over my duvet. Do I go with the flow and rent an apartment or put my back into another marine-themed problem? But life aboard is still the answer for me.

It's the limits that aren't negotiable - tides, current, wind, nightfall and sunrise - but are intuitively predictable cycles. And it's the limits that aren't limits at all - effort, skill, knowledge, even the charted ways.

It's the give under foot when I step on board, the play of light reflected on surfaces that catches my eye when I think I'm focused, it's the gentle motion that rocks me to sleep. It's the finite volume where humidity and temperature and light can all be choreographed, the cozy space encompassing the great outdoors a step away, a whole world small enough to be contained in a glance, yet complete. No wasted space, no forgotten attic, everything with a purpose.

It's the simple life after all and awareness of every aspect of it - water, shelter, heat, food, knowledge of self, the world around.