Courageous, reckless, or just plain chicken?
by Christine Kling
Talespinner in her slip at the New Bern Grand Marina
My mini-Odyssey has brought me back at last to Talespinner snuggly tied up in her slip at the New Bern Grand Marina. I flew in on Monday and I've spent the last three days provisioning, sewing a window in my bimini, changing the oil and filters, replacing my bow running lights, and completing many other boat projects. I've spent hours going over the charts of the ICW between here and Florida, and I find that tonight I have that familiar shaky, nervous feeling in my gut. I think they call it fear.
New Bern is a quaint little town and there's a great shop on the main street called the 4 C's. I went in there to buy a pair of waterproof shoes for schlepping the dog ashore in the dinghy, and I chatted with the woman who was working there. She asked me the same question that I am often asked by folks who hear that I am a woman sailing alone. "Aren't you afraid?"
I always give the same answer, which is "No." I give my reasons about how you're probably safer in a boat than you are on the Interstate, that you're just as likely to get mugged or raped in the city – if not more so. Yada, yada, yada.
The Daring Duo in matching red oilies
Tonight, getting ready to start this 850 miles trip away from this comfortable floating dock with plenty of power to run the electric heater (the temperature was 27 degrees when I got up this morning), I'm thinking that my answer to her was mostly B.S. Courageous I am not. I'm always wondering – Am I going to run aground? Am I going to drag anchor in the strong tidal currents? Am I going to break down? Am I going to be able to care for my elderly dog and keep him alive in these cold temperatures? Can I handle this trip alone?
I am reminded of a story I have often told at book signings. This happened years ago when I was invited to a Friends of the Library luncheon in St. Pete. It was held at some bubble gum pink hotel on the beach and several authors were in attendance. They sat one author at each table with about ten library patrons and they were serving those fancy cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off which taste like you're eating airex foam. I sat next to this tiny blue-haired lady, and when she found out who I was, she said, "I read your book." I thanked her, and then she added, "Your character Seychelle, she's reckless." Then she bit into another foam sandwich.
Her comment stuck with me. I didn't think of my character as someone who was reckless. I had her do things that I thought were perfectly natural given the circumstances. That made me ask myself if I was reckless.
Let's see – I rode my bicycle 1,000 miles down the new Baja Highway when I was 19 years old, I crewed on a drug-running Norwegian schooner for the trip back north up the Mexican coast, I hitch-hiked through Europe, I took off for the South Pacific from Hawaii on a boat with a guy I had known 3 days . . . need I go on?
So, when I returned from that luncheon in St. Pete, I looked up the definition of the word reckless:
"Not recking of consequences; desperately heedless, as from folly, passion, or perversity; impetuously or rashly adventurous."
Okay, so I will claim ownership to parts of that definition – perhaps the folly, passion and rashly adventurous parts – on occasions, maybe even the perversity. But I am not heedless of consequences. I am scared to death of consequences.
But I know that tomorrow when I am underway sailing down the Neuse River, the shaky feeling in my gut will gradually go away. I get more nervous anticipating doing something, than actually doing it. Being nervous or afraid is normal and pushing through it is how you can get over it.
Oddly enough, I find it far more comfortable on a boat underway than I do putting my writing out before the public. You readers may not know it, but I agonize over every blog entry I write. And finally pushing that button to publish my new novel Circle of Bones took every ounce of courage in my body. The what ifs in the world of writing and publishing are far scarier to me than reefs, currents or shoals. What if nobody buys it? What if nobody ever reads it? What if they read it and they hate it? Putting your writing out there requires far more courage than sailing a boat single handed in my view.
Which brings me back to the title of this blog and which category most suits me. Given that it took me five years to get this novel out to the world, I think I am the latter.
I'd like to close this blog with this cool video that struck a cord with me today. I've been feeling nervous and scared, like the forces of nature were ganging up on me, and I'd like to think that if I am the penguin, the readers of this blog are the folks in the dinghy.
Happy New Year everyone!
Fair winds!
Christine
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