Hello!

I am alive and, well, without much news. These past few weeks have been consumed by boat talk, boat shows, boat talk, online boat hunting, and oh ya – boat talk. It’s truly boring for anyone who is not D or I, but it’s all we can think about. Next week we start the major purge of our things, starting with the unknown depths of the storage unit: the thing is stuffed to the ceiling, and I think I can name roughly two items in there. It’s like the Muppet Babies closet.

Since I have nothing exciting to share, here’s a mini playlist of boat-relevant songs I like. Enjoy.

Amid lovely pampering products care of L’Occitane which D gifted me this Christmas, he managed to sneak in something practical: Changing Course: A Woman’s Guide to Choosing the Cruising Life, by Debra Ann Cantrell. While it’s a good book on cruising, it’s an even better book on making life-altering decisions that did not previously hold a reserved place at the table of your Grand Plans.

There’s a whole chapter on managing fear, and it was this admission by the author that has stuck with me since I turned the last page:

My fear of missing out on the cruising experience was stronger than my fear of the water–and so I made the choice to become a cruiser.

I have fears about cruising, the largest of which is bottoming out; ramming into a dead tree or rocky reef that lies just below the surface and punches a hole into the hull of the boat. It’s an uncommon occurrence if you’ve got good charts and are paying attention, but it’s a fear that haunts me every time I’ve spent a night on a boat. (What’s that noise? Is that water rushing in? Did that soft ping sound like a tree punching through fiberglass to you?) Because, of course, these things only happen at night.

Cantrell offers an exercise that I think would be fitting for every person to do, no matter whether they’re uprooting their home or looking for a career change or even just trying to cope with daily life. In a nutshell, it’s this:

Without giving it forethought, write down a list of your fears. Then go through the list and ask yourself what it is about each item that makes you feel afraid. Going with my bottoming out fear, water rushing in and me being trapped inside the boat is the part that scares me. Now, says Cantrell, “move to a deeper level.” What is it about your fear (water rushing in and feeling trapped) that frightens you? For me, it’s drowning. So while I initially thought I was pretty fearless about being on the water fulltime, deep down I have a fear of drowning, and quickly. I’m pretty sure this is due to the fact that I’m not a confident swimmer. I can tread water for a few minutes and get from A to B, as long as they are not too far away from one another. But I’m afraid I would panic and forget how to do those simple things in a time of crisis.

Cantrell suggests we “demystify” our fears and take solace in the fact that experience often assuages our fears to the point of nonexistence. In order to take mine by the reigns, I’m going to work on becoming a stronger swimmer.

What about you? Do you harbour a fear that holds you back from doing some pretty exciting things?

Thank you to everyone who emailed me to participate in the inaugural round of The Longhand Rally! There was a fantastic turnout, and all the penpals have been matched up using a highly scientific process (read: each name was assigned a number and then numbers were blindly picked from a drinking glass. With my cat as an impartial witness).

I’ve emailed everyone with their penpal’s deets, so if you haven’t heard from me, let me know and I’ll quickly remedy that. As I’ve said before, this is an ongoing endeavor, so if you’re interested in gaining a penpal later on, just drop me a line.

Our motto: No deadlines, just good times.

Attention, Longhand Ralliers: I’ll have your names randomly matched and posted by tomorrow morning. Get ready to wet your pens!

Using this simple, five-step, 4-hour-long recipe, I made a couple of baguettes yesterday that were so delectable when they first came out of the oven that I consumed 3/4 of one right then and there, and now this morning I’m finishing off the rest. Unlike store bought baguette – even the one from the really good mom n’ pop bakery up the street – this one is even better today. Sweeter, chewier, and softer, it begs to be smothered in salty butter, its remnants licked clean off the fingertips. Although it did require me to stay parked on the couch all day (oh, the humanity) to punch and roll and rise at intervals, it was the perfect project for a free day. If you have a bread maker, the dough setting makes this bread a breeze.

Sometimes a writer needs a break, am I right?

Today is the day a new year starts over here. I’ll take down the tree, wrap the ceramic candle holders in tissue, remove the ‘joy’ wreath that hangs on the door.  I’ve hung onto the decorations for this long because I don’t know when I’ll see them next. Possibly this spring or summer when I’m raffling off my possessions to family members and friends before putting the lot up on Craigslist. It all sounds a bit sad, but really, in a way, it’s a relief.

I am ready to shed all the accoutrements that make up a funny little life in an apartment: the five-foot-tall faux Christmas tree, the hand-me-down couch, the squat chair I bought for $25 from a thrift store eight years ago. The rice cooker and counter-top dishwasher. Ancient stereo system and obsolete CD collection. The L-shaped desk that takes up a third of the living room. I’m done with all of it.

The general reaction that D and I get from friends and family as we continue to reveal our steps and plans for the move onto a sailboat starts off with, “But what about…” and usually ends with “your job?” or “your home?” or  “your things?” All of which can be answered thusly: Meh.

I don’t mean to sound callous. (The job will be in tact. The boat will be a new home. The things, well, they are just that.) I personally own nothing that has sentimental value to me. If there were a fire, I’d grab the cat with one hand and my laptop with the other. And those two precious items will be with me in this new life.

I am looking forward to open air. That is all I know right now.

As Pablo Neruda wrote, “pare down, pare down.”

Hey, I just opened a Goodreads account, thanks to erelmartin’s tweets. I’m always looking for a new fiction novel to sink into, and now I have loads of personal recommendations and reviews to pilfer. To be honest, the first time I saw the name I thought it said “Googlereads,” and was all excited because I thought it would be a really accessible and vast database of online books. But this is the next best thing. And since you can create your own labels for organizing your bookshelf, it’s a great way to keep track of the books you read in 2010. If you’re a hungry reader, let’s be friends! This is me.

Whenever I’m asked what kind of music I listen to or like the most, I reply: winter music. You know, the kind you want to wrap around yourself and enjoy like a mug of tea. (We’ve come a long way, Nirvana.) New summer music comes in each year, saturates the airwaves,  and then fades out along with strawberries and tan lines. I can’t even remember the perky tunes I’m sure I hummed all last summer.

I’ve been listening to a few wonderfully wintery, warming bands lately, but I’ve put them on such heavy rotation that now I’m kind of itching for something new. These bands are:

Bowerbirds
Iron & Wine
Bon Iver
Sea Wolf
Fleet Foxes
Portishead (You didn’t think I could leave the 90s well enough alone, did you?)

What wintery music are you listening to right now? I’d love to know.

The Longhand Rally update: I’ll be gathering up emails from interested letter writers until January 15th, so we can give all the readers a chance to play along. I am super stoked about this, guys. I’ve even got little gifties planned for all inaugural ralliers!