This is Clouds Form Over Land, a newsletter about resilience, imperfection, and our relationship to the earth — inspired by life at sea and coming ashore.
When I feel stuck or want to return to the present moment, I ask, “what’s available to me now?” and the fleeting resources and conditions spring to the fore.
My second go-to question is, what progress can I make from here?
Along our 9000-mile sailing route from San Francisco to the Chesapeake Bay, we held the tension of the journey, the destination, and our current location. Making it to our home port in Virginia required a mix of focusing, striving, and letting go. There was also a hefty dose of fear and challenge as we experienced so much newness in isolation. The best part was often how simple things were — putting miles under the keel or clearing any hurdles to leave port once again, letting hours pass by — removed from the calendars, time tracking, and to-dos that create the rails of modern life.
The route was a comfort as we sailed out of sight of land or hunkered in hot port towns, waiting for the weather to turn or resolving the latest mechanical failure on our beloved 46-year-old vessel.
Sometimes we aren’t where we want to be, or perhaps even where we should be, but we're here or there nonetheless.
What progress can we make from here?
Feet planted firmly, or perhaps sitting softly, taking in the surroundings.
Where are we?
Where can we go from here?
What good can be done from here, just as things are?
The simple but life imperative tasks of sailing remind me of myself at just 16 years old. My vessel was an old pulling boat with eight oars, eight people and no cover or head (toilet). Think Viking ship. Our mission was to sail or row from Rockland Maine up the coast for 28 days. With no knowledge of sailing, charting or of each other, the first week was a learning curve. I remember that after the first week we fell into a routine of tasks. The stars have never been so bright again.