Perfect

A group of long distance sailors was sitting in the cockpit of our 36’ sailboat docked in Hawaii, enjoying my partner’s barbecue and the cocktails I was mixing. Most of us had just sailed from California, headed for the Shangri la we believed we would find in the South Pacific. The rest had just come from there, confirming our suspicions that it really was heaven on earth.

The group was discussing what they missed most about landlubber’s life. Dishwashers. Microwaves. Grandchildren. Fresh veggies mid ocean passage. Gravity fed rum tank. One by one, each person voiced what it was that they wished they weren’t without as they sailed around the world’s oceans. As the conversation moved inexorably towards me, I wracked my brain for something, anything. Sure, I missed close proximity to my family, but we kept in touch by letter and phone (this was before the wonder of internet-yes I’m that old-chronologically if not mentally). But honestly, I couldn’t think of one thing that was missing from my life that mattered in the least. Wow, seemed like I had it all. Living a dream, sailing a small boat bound round the world with a man who did almost all the cooking. The conversation paused. It was my turn and everyone was waiting as I tried and failed to think of something lacking from my life. Finally, the silence was filled with a change in subject about changes in the weather. I moved to the bow alone to contemplate the wonderful revelation that my world was perfect. How could I have gotten so lucky?

Of course it didn’t last. I’ve yet to sail round this planet, and now I’m a stinkin’ landlubber to boot, but there for a while, not only was my life perfect, but I knew it. How many people can say that?

*warning* this post has been interrupted to bring you a serious moment. Our regularly scheduled program will resume when I darn well feel like it. Leave now if you don’t want to get depressed. Otherwise, you’ve been warned. My lawyer can whip your lawyer.

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I’ll never have perfection again, thanks to the large gaping hole my brother shot in my heart nine years ago, when he put the nine millimeter to his head and pulled the trigger, ending his longstanding battle with clinical depression. Although I’ve learned to live in this world that does not contain my brother, it’s never been quite as sunny. There will always be something missing.

Happy 40th B-day, bro.