We just spent 2 days in a cabin in the middle of the mountains where Montana meets Idaho with our good friends, Pedro and Janaina. Jana’s mama from Brazil came, too (and rocked her first-ever snowshoe experience!), along with their 9-month-old, Clarice.
We skied in the sun, ate good food, drank nice wine, made merry. And we navigated skillfully around each other in the small space. I kept picturing all of us on a big boat instead of a in wood-fired log cabin, and each time I came back to this conundrum: “I won’t be able to pop on my cross-country skis and spend an hour wandering on my own when things get tight.” Hmmmmmm.
Rob and I drove straight to our respective offices from the cabin this morning, and by the close of the work day I was ready for some quiet time. I debated between hot yoga, a conditioning class or a walk. Easy choice: I’ll be doing a LOT of yoga in sauna-like conditions pretty soon, along with plenty of self-motivated conditioning and strength-training routines. One thing I won’t be doing a lot of is walking the hills alone.
As I set out from the backyard into the brisk spring evening, I pondered how much I need these alone moments to roam. For as long as I can remember, I’ve used walking as my way to explore physical landscapes as well as my mental landscape. I let my legs set their own pace as they roam through trees or grass. I let my mind wander freely as it picks through the daily joys or burdens.
How will I roam when we’re at sea?
I have no idea. My mind and body will still need to wander, but they’ll have to figure out how to do it with other people at my elbows and in the tight quarters of a small boat.
The good news: at least we’ll be moving at walking speed most of the time, which — come to think of it — is probably why I’m drawn to sailing as a means to roam.