Sailing…   Sunday 17/07/2022

To start in as lighthearted a manner as possible, let us note that opinions on sailing differ widely. A couple of pertinent examples that I have picked up while reading:

“Exultation is the going

Of an inland soul to sea,

Past the houses, past the headlands,

Into deep eternity.

Bred as we, among the mountains, 

Can the sailor understand 

The divine intoxication 

Of the first league out from land?”

      – Emily Dickinson, 1860

The great Dr Johnson expressed abhorrence:

“No man will be a sailor who has contrivance enough to get himself into a jail; for being in a ship is being in a jail, with the chance of being drowned.” And, further: “A man in a jail has more room, better food, and commonly better company.”

      – James Boswell: The Life of Samuel Johnson, 1791

So far, so amusing. And one further quote, the first line of which I think is directly relevant to me.

Conrad writes of his narrator Marlow (drawing very clearly on his own long experience of the sea):

“ He was a seaman, but he was a wanderer, too, while most seamen lead… a sedentary life. Their minds are of the stay-at-home order, and their home is always with them – the ship… One ship is very much like another, and the sea is always the same.” Of foreign places and faces, instead of mystery, he feels “a slightly disdainful ignorance… after his hours of work, a casual stroll or casual spree on shore suffices to unfold for him the secret of a whole continent, and generally he finds the secret not worth knowing.”

      – Joseph Conrad: Heart of Darkness, 1899

I suppose that like Marlow, I am a wanderer. Forgive the lengthy introduction, but what I intend to say here is something about the consequence for me of sailing and wandering – and that is frequent periods alone. I am sometimes asked by other sailors who do not sail alone, and of course by many non-sailors: don’t you feel lonely?

It’s a legitimate question. Certainly at first, for some months of last year, I frequently found myself feeling alone, and yes, it often felt uncomfortable. I jotted a few notes at the time. Looking back at them, in particular I wondered if the discomfort would pass – and indeed if in some way it would turn out good for me? Or, would it persist to the point that I would need to actively seek company in order to continue?

Well, it has been interesting to realise over the last few months that I have become more and more comfortable with solitude. Whether sailing alone for a few days, or being somewhere quiet without any significant human contact for longer periods, I have felt entirely fine. So well, that it has struck me that I feel indifferent to whether I have human contact or not.

As I’ve said, I’m very aware that the overwhelming majority of people see aloneness as something to be avoided, and sometimes at all costs. What has surprised me among fellow sailors is the pronounced aversion to solitude that most have. It is not the lack of experience, or doubt as to their technical ability, that stops men and women from sailing alone across the Atlantic – it is the fear of solitude. And several have expressed that very openly: “I just couldn’t be alone for over three weeks”, and very often they say that they wouldn’t want to be alone for three days even. It would seem that man is indeed a social being. 

Now, before you think that I have become a crazed hermit, I can reassure you! Being in a marina for the last few weeks, it has been very easy to engage with people around me. And I have happily done so. But I have noticed that I haven’t been driven by need – whether I do engage or whether I don’t seems unimportant – except from the purely practical point of view: people can be useful sources of information and sometimes it can be worthwhile to debate a particular point with someone else (not always, for it is not uncommon to come across fools…).

One thing does strike me. To feel comfortable alone does require that you are comfortable with yourself. Which I suppose means self-acceptance (I don’t think it’s necessary to go so far as to say loving yourself!)… but certainly it does seem to mean finding yourself to be enough, that in solitude there is nothing missing. 

It’s an interesting subject and I don’t think that I’ve done justice to it here. I’ve really just sketched a very preliminary view. I’m also aware that my feelings might change – who knows? But it does seem that something rather important has happened to me, and reflecting on it has made me feel confident and satisfied.