Sailing, sailing, Over the bounding main...

So after all the ranting and raving about life in Larchmont, why move to this town you may wonder? I mean, it is consistently rated as a top place to live in America. So what are the perks? Do not be fooled by the “mont,” apart from a pathetic little hill or "hillet" right next to where I live, this place is flat. We are so not in the mountains! Au contraire, one of the greatest draws to this quiet town is its proximity to bustling New York City while being on the tranquil seaside. Sailing fanatics move here in order to keep up with their passion on a weekly basis.

While I am certainly no fanatic, there is nothing I treasure more than being on the water. When I lived in Los Angeles a few years ago, I would drive to the beach every weekend to breathe in the fresh ocean air. I would stare out into the limitless ocean and let the sound of crashing waves wash away all worries. The ocean was the ideal remedy to the stifling and isolating Hollywood. The vast nature of the sea had the power to make me take a few steps back and reevaluate my situation with perspective. The Long Island Sound is no Pacific Ocean of course, but nonetheless it has the same therapeutic quality. It has become an addiction, and I find it increasingly difficult to be away from it for too long... I just might start getting jittery.

This is exactly what happened to me in my third month of living in Thailand. I couldn’t have asked to be placed in a more spectacular region than where I ended up. I was perched up in the mountains only an hour away from the Golden Triangle, Burma and Laos. Don’t get me wrong, mountains have a similar infinite powerful quality to them. While I adored our day-trips onto the winding roads bordering Burma, by December, I got the jitters and knew there was only one solution to the problem – a trip to the seaside.

I thus embarked on 30-hour bus ride roundtrip to the closest possible island I could attain for no more than 2 nights. Most would find this hardly worth it, but to me, it made all the difference – I got my fix. December was still early on in my time there, and I was feeling the full effects of having moved across the world from everything I knew. This expedition to the ocean felt like a brief jaunt home. I remember the uncontrollable excitement I felt when I saw the big blue ahead. Whether I’m driving down Sunset Boulevard in Los Angeles or biking down Beach Avenue in Larchmont, when the little patch of blue first appears, I feel that same sensation of exhilaration. It never fails me. The ocean no matter where on this planet is the ocean… waves will be waves, the salty sea breeze will smell and feel the same.

During my weekly GMAT meltdowns – period of about 6 hours right after taking a practice test and realizing that I’m not progressing and feeling like my past 4 months have gone to waste – my brother (that dear brother of mine) takes me out for a sail. I am initially reluctant, as nothing it seems in that moment can help my misery. Luckily for me, Olivier never takes "no" for an answer. “Julieeeeet,” he says, this time in a French parental tone, “snap out of it.” Seriously, he might be annoying, but I really don’t know what I would do without him. And so I grudgingly follow him to the yacht club.

I first have to get past the friendly-member-inquiring-about-my-life-plan obstacle course. Not now, please, just really not a good time to discuss my elaborate plans… Big sunglasses should do the trick. At the very least, they won’t see the bags under my puffy eyes. Once on the boat, I do my utmost to help set the boat up quickly. One mishap and Olivier does not hesitate to scold me for my ignorance. For those of you who have never sailed before, setting up the boat can be quite the process. After a screaming fight out in the bay, we finally get our sails up and are on our way out onto the Sound.

"Helloooo!? What don't you understand about pulling your jib in?" "I'm tryinnnng," I whimper. My desperation has rendered me weak -- I pathetically tug on my jib line, but the sail just flaps in the wind as if to say, "I will not surrender to your order, Juliet." Fine, go on then, flap away, see if I care! I know I have nothing to complain about, I'm on a sailboat for crying out loud! Things will work out as they always do, but at this very moment, nothing seems to be happening. I'm getting impatient. Months of effort seem to be amounting to nothing, and that was just not part of the plan. I came back from Thailand without a plan, but quickly figured I better come up with one, or else... So I came up with one that seemed reasonable. Effort has always led to results for me, but this time, I'll admit it's been a bit trying....

My mind drifts off to the rhythm of the boat beating against the waves and I let the ocean work its magic on me. I’ve got it, I tell myself. Life is like sailing, and right now I’m sailing upwind. I keep heading straight into the wind, and sailing into the wind gets you nowhere – the boat stops, the sails flutter. I’m stagnating. The only way to reach a destination set smack in the wind is by zigzagging up, tack, jibe, tack, jibe... Should I jibe and let the wind fill my sail from another angle? Fighting the uncontrollable wind amounts to nothing. I should probably stop feeling the need to control everything -- some things are simply out of my reach. Shouldn't I just accept the wind’s strength and direction and let my boat cruise to where it takes me?

“CAMP OUT!” yells the tyrant. We are now speeding upwind; the Ideal 18 is practically perpendicular to the ocean. I’m alive! At this point, I feel the need to interject with a fair warning: sail with me at your own risk. Too many times have I gone out for a sail and capsized . Years ago, I very briefly joined the sailing team in college. You will soon understand why my college sailing venture was so "brief." During my one miserly afternoon on the team, I was paired up with a rather confident young man who was not deterred by my bad karma warning and assured me that he knew exactly what he was doing. Less than 10 minutes into our sail, we found ourselves in the Delaware River desperately trying to get the sails out the water. You have been warned, unless you are my bossy brother, do not sail with me.

“Watch your head,” cries Olivier as he switches gears and decides to sail more calmly downwind. After shouting at me for letting my sail out all the way, he falls into a dreamy state of his own, “You know what I love about sailing? I love that this thing is entirely controlled by natural resources.” The captain decides the direction of the boat, yet it could never move forward without wind. All we must do is fix our final destination point, and according to the direction of the wind, we must find the individual tacks, with destination points of their own, to take us there. Perhaps one of our interim tacks has a more appealing destination than the initial one or perhaps luxuriating in the simple act of sailing down that tack careless of where we are actually heading is where it’s really at. Alternately, the wind might turn and due to such external circumstances, we’ll have to change our destination altogether. If such a thing should happen, shouldn’t we resist the ingrained urge to put up a fight and just accept?

When I was 12 years old, my French cousin Antoine came to spend the summer sailing in Larchmont. He and I would sail every afternoon with a group of fairly competitive sailors. We were consistently the losers of the class. In order to never let it get to us, we stocked up on candy ensuring an afternoon of non-stop laughter. One time we decided to get a little serious and attempted a regatta. Needless to say, we came in last. But what did we care? We had just created new memories, new stories to be told. Out there, we had no idea what we were doing, but we sailed, and accepted our pitiable loss in good humor -- that was all that mattered.

So why not just sail and not worry so much about the destination? Focusing too much on arriving there might take away from the enjoyment of the sail itself. One of my closest friends must have had this in mind when she took off a month ago for an indefinite sailing trip around the world with her Spanish lover (tough life I know). This Spaniard has been leisurely sailing around the world for the past 7 years and predicts he will continue his journey for another 10, at least. They are currently in Fiji sailing off into the sunset. She too is wondering where to navigate her ship, but for now she is allowing herself to go where the wind will take her.

My travels through Southeast Asia rendered me to undoubtedly the most free-loving and accepting hippy-esque state I have ever been in. I learned to utterly let go. When I broke my hand, after the initial unbearable pain, I nonchalantly took it in stride and told everyone, "it was clearly meant to be." And so it was... Losing functionality in one hand was so handicapping, I could hardly eat and pack my clothes on my own, let alone put makeup on or tie my hair up. I had lost virtually all control and was utterly dependent on my new friends. I suppose I don't really need makeup while I'm traveling like a dirty backpacker anyway, right? And so I kicked back and let situations unfold at their own pace. Riding the wave became my mantra (I can hear those friends snickering in the background as they read this, you know exactly who you are!).

So I wonder, is it possible to let my sail out as I did after breaking my hand, and sail downwind for a while? Or should I pull my sail in and arduously make my way toward a goal that lies somewhere upwind? It might not be so black or white... Perhaps most important is awareness of where the wind is blowing. What to do with it will be revealed in the moment. After all, one must be constantly present when sailing in order to avoid capsizing the boat -- take it from me, I have learned my lesson (in theory at least) ! There are so many ways to philosophize and I think I may have had enough for now. But do not fret, there will be more to come through a brand new metaphor! In the meantime, I’m just going to relish in having gotten my ocean fix.