Ring out the old, ring in the new. I've always thought that January first was an odd time to celebrate a "new" year; it's not so much different from December thirty-first, after all. Then again, there really is no time in the year where things stop and start again, no discontinuity from one day or month or year to the next, except in our own personal lives.
Every once in a while I reach into the memory bank, and think, "Now, where was I this time last year?" Over the years of making plans to leave Boulder, going cruising, and coming back to land life, this has been an interesting exercise. One year ago we were in the ABC islands, preparing to head for Cartagena, Colombia. Two years ago we were shivering in an unseasonably cold Vero Beach, Florida. Now we're in Durango, back in Colorado, looking at bare brown hillsides as we wait for a real snowfall.
Some people -- most people, I guess -- are pretty much in the same place now as they were last year. And I imagine that most people thrive on the comfort that familiarity brings. A few people, I'm sure, crave constant change. I used to think that was the way I felt, once. But now I think that what I want is balance between change and familiarity, between adventure and comfort.
Another balancing act which most people deal with daily is that between work and family, business and pleasure. A lot of people envied us when we quit our jobs -- the general assumption is that the ideal balance is no work and all play. But we found that not to be true, at least with us. Without work of some sort we felt adrift, unfocussed, unbalanced. To some extent the work of living aboard and cruising counts as work, and writing these logs gave me work to do as well, but there was still something missing (particularly for Britt, who considerately left the web stuff to me).
Now this is coming into balance, too. Britt's been working like crazy on the web database collaboration with Heiner (from La Buena Vida) and really enjoying it. The whole process of learning how to do something and then doing it, and doing it well, obviously makes him happy. (Plus there is the promise, in the distance, of financial renumeration -- which brings not only dollars but the proof that others value his work.) I am slowly establishing a sort-of-career as a freelance writer: look for my byline in the February issue of Sailing and the March issue of Cruising World. I've also written a few popular-science type articles about snow, one for a children's magazine called Wild Outdoor World and one for a regional outdoorsy sports magazine, Inside Outside. In addition, all my whining in the previous log got the attention of a friend back up at my old workplace, NCAR, and it looks like I might be telecommuting for a part-time job there soon.
Lots of people who knew us through cruising, or through our website, were surprised that we chose to go back to Colorado. "I figured you'd end up on the coast somewhere, in a beach house with a dock," was a frequent comment. But we already have our waterfront house -- Windom. What was missing was the mountain cabin, something to balance the seagoing life. (Ultimately, I think Britt would like a real mountain cabin. For myself, I prefer an in-town place, to balance the isolation and distance we have with the boat.) We are still enjoying the lovely mountains, the aridity of the air (we can open a box of crackers , and they are still crisp three weeks later! amazing!), the convenience of being able to walk to the store without dropping the dinghy. We love the feeling of being warmed by the bright sun on an otherwise chilly day. We're soaking up as much Colorado as we can, for now.
But ultimately, we're sure we'll start to yearn for the other side of our balanced equation, for the fishing and the snorkeling and the cockpit cocktail parties and the wonderful feeling of skidding across the waves on a beam reach. And when we do, we'll pack our bags, and go sailing again. We hope you'll join us.
