The off-season was challenging. Arcturus went to bed in the fall, it’s mast horizontal, stripped of all the running rigging, standing rigging, spreaders and internal wiring. As winter approached, I took a circular saw to a bulkhead by the mast and cut out a large panel that was partially rotted. Stuff was everywhere. The dining table was stuffed in the V-berth, along with the spinnaker pole and boom.
The deck that the potty sat on was no longer fit for purpose, so it came out. I trimmed a roughly sized piece of half inch plywood to temporarily replace the rotten bulkhead. Sawdust and shavings, dirt, tools and everything else that needed to move somewhere else, the hill seemed too steep to climb, the tasks certainly larger than my ability to cope, I cried. Sitting on the sole in the main cabin, I couldn’t see the end, was uncertain if it could ever come, my spirit was crushed.
Steadily, in the darkest days of winter, lists and checklists were made, materials ordered. Refitting was stymied by cold and colder weather. Sometime in early Spring, I drove out to the boat, removed the temporary bulkhead and jammed a support into place. On a dry day, we went to the lumber yard that stocked the pricey teak veneer plywood. Soon after, I was sawing that expensive plywood to fit. ‘Don’t mess up,’ I thought, ‘this is $175 a sheet.’
Seemingly, everything took longer, cost more, required more work and more energy. The to-do list got longer the more that we worked. It was hard, and not very encouraging. Tiny little gains, and huge disappointments.
And then, Arcturus is in the water, and soon it’s a beautiful sight, making 6.3 knots on the smooth water of Lake Michigan. The payoff.
And, of course, this is a reality, and an analogy.
Three months ago, I started this writing and illustrating project, this blog: Feather in the Wilderness, and it has been wonderfully healing for me. Each week, I’m paying attention to what I’m feeling, keenly observing and distilling it into a few words and a few photos. Nearly four weeks ago, like a switch, I felt good. Like being put into the water that I belong after months – no, years – of being in a parking lot. I’ve been working through this depression that I have had for a long time, making tiny little gains, and having huge disappointments. More than once, there was no end in sight, uncertain that I would ever feel happy again. Depression is more than just feeling sad. It’s this spirit crushing disease that takes away the very will to keep going. Some of you understand this so well, others try to understand, and I thank you for your effort.
It’s a little moment, laying down on the fore deck, seeing the lovely curves of the sails, the blue sky, and the sound of the bow cutting through the water, when my life is restored.
When you know that someone you care about is going through the darkness of depression, won’t you take a moment, be honest if you know or don’t know what they’re going through, and give them that hug or high-five, you made it into another day, and you can do this hard thing. This hard thing of rebuilding your life while you are living it.
Thanks,
Harold
Feather in the Wilderness 