Gee's Sailing Diaries: Part 10

Self-revelations

It was surprising how quickly one month of being fully absorbed by nautical activities started to feel like just a dream.

Offshore racing can be intense. There's no doubt about that. But I got everything I wanted out of Race 7: fantastic sailing with big problem-solving events, some citizen science with the deployment of a drifter buoy, human connection, wonderful nature and freshly calloused hands from a bunch of hard work. Because of this, I felt like I would be better off sticking with my original plan and explore some of Asia rather than sticking around for Race 8.

It was a bittersweet decision for me as I love the crew, I love sailing and I love the ocean (the possibility of a monsoon at the end of Race 8 nearly convinced me to stay on!). But this way I got to explore countries I've been wanting to visit for a while despite never quite being sure I would ever get there. And so I left sailing behind, having crossed two oceans, and I entered the last stage of my sabbatical: one final month of travelling solo before I headed to my new home and new job in Scotland. I had a lot to look forward to, going back.

For me, the challenge was never going to be the sailing part. I'd never sailed before this race but I knew how to do hard things. I knew suffering and I knew how to be scared and do the thing anyway. I'm good at those things. But what I'm still struggling with, which became even more apparent during my time on board the good ship CV21, is accepting that I might just be worthy and deserving sometimes too. Of other people's love. Of other people's acceptance. That there are people that care about me and want me to just be me. Flaws and all. Happy and safe.

I'm a known Irish exit-er. A quiet quitter. I like to just fade away and pretend that no one noticed or cared. Because then I don't have to face the fact that someone just might. Because who would possibly care that much about me for it to matter? This crew never questioned this. They cared anyway. Despite this. In spite of this. And almost immediately, too. No questions asked. I found it funny that I have so much love to give and I like to think I give it quite freely. But I'm still trying to figure out how to be loved in return. So I announced before the prize-giving ceremony that I was leaving the boat the next day. I knew the crew would be distracted – first of all by prizegiving, but secondly, because it would be just two more sleeps until they set sail again so it would be back to all-hands-on-deck and heads in the game. I figured this would just be best for everyone that way. I was flattered when some members of the crew came to wave me off in my taxi and sent me messages of good luck, even though they were the ones heading back out into the big blue ocean. I'm beginning to wonder if heading out to sea might actually be – at least in some ways – easier than heading inland. Into the hustle and bustle. The relentless drone of the world and the infinite choices and decision-making and expectations that are laid on each one of us.

The social awkwardness, social cues and sensory aspects of my brain were picked up quickly by the team. They politely, patiently and without condescension explained to me on a few occasions why others had taken particular actions or reacted in a certain way to something when I didn't understand or hadn't noticed. And they also were very respectful of limiting my sensory input whilst doing certain things, such as helming. Sometimes this was picked up without me even mentioning it, which was refreshing. It was great to also be able to laugh at myself when my fine motor skills suddenly evaporated, which they often do at the best moments, such as when trying to turn sausages whilst heeled over at a 40-degree angle or replace the cap on a water bottle (fifth time's the charm).  This was something I was immediately grateful for, being on that boat because, in my experience, that level of acceptance can be a rare thing to find on land.

Another thing I became more aware of due to sailing is just how much energy I actually have. Humans are good at surrounding themselves with people like them. Neurodivergents are no different. Modern society can make me feel drained for long periods of time due to overstimulation and chronic stress. But take all of that away and give me routine, structure, consistency and simplicity, and my Duracel bunny characteristics are as clear as day. I used to question whether or not I really had hyperactive tendencies (this may come as a shock to some of you). But the crew of CV21 once again made this clearer for me. There were many comments regarding how I didn't stop moving. How well I functioned on such little sleep. And how reliable I was when given a job with purpose. Give me a pointless job and my brain will just challenge it and lose interest very quickly to find something else. But give me something with novelty, urgency, challenge and a bit of meaning behind it and I'm all over it. To add to that, I loved the physical jobs on board too – did somebody say dopamine hit?! If I didn't have a job I would either find one or ask for one and I don't mind if I'm working solo either! I quite enjoyed being in the zone when tidying up the cockpit practically single-handedly after the race finish. I also quickly became known by the maintenance team once back on dry land for my enthusiasm and willingness to help!