My “process” for writing this blog is to stalk random thoughts that crawl across my mind, pondering them for a few days or a week, maybe work out some witty word juxtapositions (see, there’s one) while I try to wrangle them into something sensible to share. Eventually something gels and, well, plop, here it is!

If this were a blog primarily about where I’ve been and what I’ve done, topics would be painless to come by, but (in my opinion) run-of-the-mill. There’s certainly a thread of where and what to it, certainly in its timeline if nothing else. I try, though, to make it more about where Mabrouka has taken my thoughts. Still, I gather that I need to work harder as I try to revive this blog to rise above of the angst that my brother referred to in his comment on the last post.

There is certainly no expectation on my part that I have a unique perspective on what constitutes a good cruising blog, which is, I suppose, my genre. I can say, though, that my intent is to share the inner learning experience that setting sail across the Pacific offers, …at least what it’s offered to me. While I will own the angst that has played background music for much of these passed five years in Tonga, I can possibly make the case that a more stoic, if not heroic sound track is appropriate. That’s what I aspire to be, a hero to my teeming followers!

This is one reason I imbedded that Tally Ho episode in my last post. The story Leo tells is of the resurrection of a famous yacht and the people who rebuilt her, their joy in coming together, and the pleasure of their accomplishments. His own angst is only ever referred to in passing and is never his main subject. Hell, he chopped part of a finger off and never really told us what happened. He is a hero. He doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve like I do. He is British and his stiff upper lip serves him well.

So, no, I do not feel like my voyage is or has ever been a failure. There have been hardships along the way that have presented options for defeat. While they may have slowed me down, they have never actually stopped me. It’s actually a bit disconcerting to me that, not so long ago when I looked up at my main mast and saw the glaring evidence that rot had returned to haunt the ill-fated timber, I just kind of accepted it. Oh well, I thought, here we go.

Working out how the confused emotions affected my choices, be it right here in front of you via these posts, has helped me greatly. I’ve reconciled my way to a freedom that I haven’t felt in some years. Yes, tacking through the shifting headwinds, fixing masts and replacing engines, then fixing masts again has been hard, but inuring. Now I sail onward with plans to spend my children’s inheritance with wild abandon.