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I don’t have a business card, a cell phone, or a mailing address. I don’t have a resume, references, contacts or any employable skills, I’m not on linkedin or facebook. I’m not a yachter, racer, or cruiser, perhaps not even a sailor. Some might call me a voyager, others, well…

Sailing the San Juan's

What is it that I do then? We all must do something, unless we are on the endless Obama Dole, doing time receiving 3 hots and a cot, or trustafarians. Even hardened criminals work their ass off at something productive even if a bit misguided.

Chloe

I’m a writer but I never really understood what that meant or how I reached that prestigious level of awesomeness. I didn’t know I was struggling even though I write about it. I didn’t know that I am an artist even though people pay me for my art and I didn’t know I had any talent even though I have been told time and time again that I do. The truth is I simply don’t care about any of those things. Writing isn’t a job, or a career for me, its my ultimate passion, I am a story teller but I’m learning that without sacrificing for my art my art is dead.

Westsail 32

When I landed a job after 6 months of unemployment and years of under-employment I thought it was a blessing, I could finally take Serena out to dinner, pay a vet to care for my sick doggie and see a dentist, I could continue my restoration of Sookie, buy a warm sleeping bag and some clean pants, maybe even a set of foulies. I could tuck a little away for a rainy day and blow some on replacing the camera gear I sold to buy a motor for my engine-less boat. I could do and have a lot of things but they would come at a cost, the price for merely surviving would mean selling my soul to the devil. There are all types of writers but very few who can or will honestly portray all of their success, or should I say many attempts at success and failures with the whole world. I’m working and making money but it has stolen my ability to write, it has drained my passion and the life out of me, It has stolen my story. By the end of the day my soul is a dead tired drone, Sure I can afford the better things in life but who cares if you can have it all if your passion is dead. Easy money has taken the struggle away, the one thing I can truly call my own, the fight to make a difference to actually be happy in the moment and to share it with hundreds of thousands of people. To say hey you aren’t alone I’m here as are many others and we are struggling just like you. If it was easy we would all live our dreams but its not, its a struggle and it can be overwhelming and scary, we will get lonely and at time be completely overwhelmed but the truth is no matter how bad it is we will at some point in our lives look back and say ah man I remember when… Those were some of the best days of my life, we will share our struggle with a smile and proud achievement because nobody can be held down forever if they are following their heart. Its the ones caught in purgatory with their 10 years plans that I worry about. Burn your bucket list, throw your plans out the window, find that one thing that you do absolutely for free that fulfills more than any other thing and be the best person at it in the whole damn world. If I only have one thing the teach and share with you let it be that today is almost over and tomorrow may never come.

sanjuansufficiency.com

Some day I might find the time to write about the last month. I have met many amazing sailors, heard enough stories to write the worlds greatest sailing book and even made a few new ones of my own. I have found an island paradise and even had the honor of beers and brats with one of my favorite bloggers, Chris from http://sanjuansufficiency.com/, I could go on and on, actually since I am living my dreams I think I will. Now where did I store those charts?

Fishies

What I learned today, I was sitting in the boatyard in the hot afternoon sun drinking a cold beer with two world class sailors, one a crusty old pirate and one in his very young thirties, also a pirate.  I was talking about Serena and cant even remember about what but it went something like this, … and she isn’t even a sailor, the crusty pirate immediately said, if she lives on that little boat with you she is a sailor, and I stood corrected, Serena is now a sailor.  From the Log of Sookie somewhere in the San Juan’s

pinch me

When you wish upon a star…