September 2000 - Back to the Grindstone
It's already been almost two months since we first landed at Shilshole after our eight days at sea. Having gotten completely used to the marvelous wandering sea life this summer, we are now trying, with some difficulty, to readjust ourselves to the work life once again. We have both returned to work now; Michael was able to get back the position he had before we left in April, and I got a new job testing at an internet company. It is nice to build up our bank account after draining it pretty much dry over the summer in Alaska, but it's been quite a trial getting used to the rush rush world of Seattle again. We never made it to San Diego, obviously, but it is comforting to be back in a familiar place again with friends and family nearby.
We knew it would be hard having to go back to work again. We had tried not to dread it all summer, but the knowledge was still knawing in the backs of our minds. Our savings account only contained enough money to last until August and we knew we'd have to be back at work by that time, or the bank would come calling. After returning to Seattle, too soon we were back in our old work routine. Awake before dawn to avoid the traffic driving across the bridge to the Eastside, work until late evening, drive in traffic back to the boat, eat a quick dinner, fall asleep and start all over again the next day.
The benefit of this routine is that time really flies. Two months have passed without us hardly being aware of it. Before we know it, we'll have made the upgrades Jenny P needs for more offshore work and our savings account will be ripe for a few years in Central America. But at the same time, this rapid pace only makes the memories of this past summer in Canada and Alaska emerge more powerfully. Traveling in that slow, wandering way of cruising, every single day was significant. I can think back and remember each mile of our journey, each anchorage, each and every morning waking up and being excited in anticipation of the new and beautiful things we would see that day. It feels like we have been gone for years. Now, each day simply blends into the next with nary a distinction, just as they had before we left.
This we think about every day. It shocks and saddens us to know this is how many people spend their entire lives, living one day or month or year to the next with nothing distinguishing each one. It is especially hard knowing that this is how we too must live in the meantime, to keep saving for the next time we can escape this madness.
Some days, the memories of the past summer overtake us. Visions of the beauty we witnessed, kindness of the people we met, the days we spent enjoying each other's company fill our minds eye and we get lost in the vivid remembering. We lay awake these nights, reminding each other of each individual adventure - wandering through the charming neighborhoods of Ketchikan, or being surrounded by humpbacks near Glacier Bay, or even the night Michael finally saw the Northern Lights while throwing up as we headed offshore. Sometimes, it is painful to wake up to the reality of our lives right now -- of commuting, dirty air, concrete -- and tuck those memories away.
As we sailed away from Alaska that evening last August, I watched the towering misty mountain peaks aglow from the setting sun fade into the distance. The Brady Glacier majestically tumbling down the face of Mt. Fairweather into the emerald sea. I knew at that moment that I would miss this magical land and experiences and that I would bring forth this image many times in the future. And I do.
-sdj-
