To reach a port we must set sail – Sail, not tie as anchor. Sail, not drift. ~Franklin D. Roosevelt
When I met Mike I lived with a “go” bag under my bed. 3 interchangeable days packed & ready to leave at a moment’s notice. From call to boots on ground, butt in seat, working was no more than 36 hours and usually less that 24.
I spent most of each year traveling for work and staying to play. I wandered the world alone.
Mike embraced it, this life meant we met in random towns for weekend getaways. It also meant Mike hung out with his friends alone a lot, some even 12 years later had never met me.
This weekend we visited such a friend. A shipmate of his, a deckhand he sailed with, now the Captain of a beautiful tall ship.
We were welcomed aboard, told sea stories, chatted about the rigging and port calls, were loving feed by Cookie. We set dates for dinner aboard and to meet again.
The boat was a beauty, even in repairs and full of dusty sailors. It's an adventure. It’s the calling of the sea, the wander, the unknown - a sirens song.
It’s a melody fraught with memories of adventure. Waking up on a new continent as the plane is landing. Walking a dark alleyway to see the light coming from a glass blowers shop. It's watching the sunrise over the crashing waves on Easter morning.
The sirens pull back to the sea. We long for it, then...
Sunday morning crawling out of my own bed, walking the field, sunshine on my cheeks, cookbooks, coffee and rolling out dough. The smell of fresh waffles and our vegetables in quiche. Eating breakfast with my husband … at home.
He is my lighthouse, this is the safe port I set sail to oh so many years ago.