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After reading the very influential novel called “You Are a Badass” by Jen Sincero, I’ve been thinking a lot about the inherent powers of manifestation and mindfulness. We as human beings place so many limitations on ourselves that really don’t need to exist at all. We are our own worst enemies, and our own biggest obstacles to growth and positive change. We tell ourselves all the time: “no, it’s impossible” or “no way in hell can I do that", and it’s most often a subconscious dialogue that’s on autoplay.

Why do we do that?

I’m trying to buck that habit within myself and am starting to view goals and desires with fresh eyes. I’m also attempting to get rid of those old stories I used to tell myself about not having enough money, or not being strong enough, or not having the right background. Screw that! Every day is a fresh start. We can constantly reform our identity. It’s a fluid thing.

And life is way more fun when you don’t resign yourself to living a certain way because that’s “who you are.” Let that change! Let yourself go! Be what you feel in this moment. Embrace that inner weirdo that no one can figure out because you’re all over the place. If that’s you, that’s you.

I Dream of Sailing

One of my big goals is to sail as much as possible, in the very near future. I’m trying to manifest that with positive thinking and affirmative action. I took a sailing course in the San Juan Islands in June with my family (photos below) and fell even more in love with the concept of harnessing the wind’s energy to spend time on the best thing in the world (the ocean). Thank you Dad for dreaming this family excursion up, and Mom for making it happen, and Michael for being there. Some real, solid family bonding.

I recently had the absolute pleasure here in Tonga of getting invited aboard the sailboat of some of Fi’s friends from last year, a delightful Kiwi couple from Nelson called Peter and Ellen. We had a magical day, enjoying light winds and an easy sail. We even saw spinner dolphins amongst the many humpbacks that delighted us with their slappy surface behaviors and surprise appearances. The peace and quiet of having the engine off and watching yourself glide over the water is addicting.

I love the challenge of arranging the trim and the sails just so, maximizing your efficiency to get you where you want to go. It requires vigilance and patience at the same time.

A Love Letter to You, My Future Sailboat

So, as you do with any new love, I decided I wanted to write a love letter to my future boat. I don’t know everything about her yet. But I’m going to pretend I do.

She’ll have been built in Bellingham, Washington. Close to the place I hope to call home one day (Orcas Island). Sturdy, solid, classic. Somewhere around 36-40 feet long. Maybe a Beneteau? I don’t know much about sailboat models yet, but I do know that the boat we sailed around in on the San Juans was a Beneteau, and I really enjoyed Kalypso.

She’ll have a nice V-berth up in the bow, an amazingly-maintained wooden cabin with a well-designed galley. She’ll have a nice clean head (I’ll make sure of that!) with a shower. She’ll have plenty of solar panels to charge up her batteries and keep the fridge and freezer nice and cool.

She’ll of course have photos of my amazing adventures tacked up along the walls of the cabin. Whales in Tonga. Cliffsides in Greece. Dolphins in Croatia. More marine mammals in the Azores. Galapagos anchorages. Surf spots along the coast of Central America. Quiet evenings at anchor near San Juan Island. An epic sail up the Northwest Passage to Alaska.

Through her hull, I will hear humpbacks sing and orcas whistle. I’ll fall asleep to waves lapping quietly against the fiberglass, my belly full of a dinner cooked with whatever local produce is in season (and maybe some rice and canned beans). I’ll wake in the morning and do yoga on whatever deck space I can find, practicing gratitude for the amazing opportunity I have to live on the sea.

I’ll become a whiz at boat maintenance. I won’t get frustrated when the bilge stops working, or the sea strainer gets clogged, or something else goes wrong. I’ll patiently problem solve, ask for help when I need it, and keep things ship-shape. I’ll become my own mechanic and electrician.

I’ll become stronger, and braver, after scary experiences and difficult ocean crossings. I won’t let them dampen my enthusiasm, or my drive. I will see them as learning experiences.

I’ll hear languages I’ve never heard before, and see smiles from faces that are all the colors of the rainbow. I’ll try new foods, hear new stories, and be a grateful guest if I am invited ashore (or aboard) to dinner with new friends. I’ll be a gracious host in return when I have folks onboard for dinner with me.

I’ll have my family out as much as they want. I want nothing more than to see the wind blowing Mom’s hair back, Dad hoisting in the mainsail, Allyson reading her book in the cockpit, and Michael at the helm. Ok, Ally, you can help with the sailing too, but I just have a feeling you’d be happiest with your book in your hands. And Mom, you can watch us :) Just relax; you’ve earned it after a lifetime of taking care of us.

There will be nowhere we can’t go. No marine life we won’t advocate for. I don’t want to just be on a boat seeing things. I know that these marine ecosystems are hurting. I want to write, and scream, and contribute in every way that I can to help this planet, this ocean, these animals. I don’t know exactly what that will look like But I am open to the Universe’s cues.

We’ll dance across the ocean, making waves, and I will feel the very heartbeat of the planet through the songs of the animals that call it home.

To my beautiful sailboat - we’ll be together soon.

Love, Lozza

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