by Kim Petersen
In the middle of the ocean you are well outside the bounds of conventionality, and this is where I began to understand some of the benefits of conventional culture. You stand together. You help each other out. There is protection, shelter, reinforcement. In between Bermuda and the Azores, you are alone, with no broader support system. Life as you know it is on the line, and you and your crew are the only ones who can deal with problems as they arise.
To complicate matters further, weather prediction nine days out is a gamble and this really stuck in my craw. The longer you expose yourself to the elements, say more than three days offshore, the more unpredictable the weather can become. The low pressure system you thought would pose little worry suddenly gains momentum and strength and approaches faster than you had anticipated. When you are cruising close to shore, you can head toward land and safety. When you are 800 miles from the nearest land there is nowhere to run. You can try to alter your course, but on such a long journey, we would carry only such reserve fuel as could be used for an emergency. If we chose to alter course and then had a fuel leak, we could find ourselves out of fuel and in a bit of a pickle.
I told Mike, “I do like living on a boat, but crossing the Atlantic in a homemade powerboat is a different sort of animal. If anything ever happened to one of the kids, I am not sure I could forgive myself. It would be as if we were intentionally placing them in harm's way.” Even as I said this, I reminded myself that just by giving them birth I had placed them in harm's way.
He came and knelt by my chair and took my hands into his. “But what if the crossing was a success? Think of the story, we would be knitting into our lives; the value of pushing through our fears and accomplishing a difficult task. Think of the things it would build in our future. I feel like we are so close to accomplishing this goal. We've already done the hardest part: built the boat and learned how to live aboard. To turn back now seems unthinkable to me.”
He paused here and looked away before saying softly, “If you don't think you can do it, I would understand. We certainly have had enough adventure in our lives lately. How would you feel if the kids and I took Chrysalis over without you? You could fly across and meet us in Gibraltar. There would be nothing wrong with this. I would think nothing less of you. I would understand completely! We all have our limits. But, Kim, this has always been our dream, yours and mine, and it won't be the same if you aren't there. I would love to be able to accomplish this together. I believe in you. I believe you have the capacity to accomplish this. How about we just move in that direction, and see what happens? We can always change our minds.”
I told him I would think about it.
Evidently, the giant woman Fear was still around, she had just been sleeping. Now she woke up sputtering, “What? What did I miss? Did someone mention crossing the Atlantic? You can't be serious. Oh that's rich!” She made up for lost time. She amassed forces on the battleground and switched tactics from mental to physical.
Obviously, I still had some issues regarding crossing the ocean, because after returning to Florida, I woke up one night with pains in my chest. I had fallen asleep and dreamed that Chrysalis was caught in a huge whirlpool, spinning out of control, and was about to sink. It happened again a few nights later when I was just beginning to drift off to sleep. When it happened a third time, I went to a doctor.
I told him it felt like I was having a heart attack. I could feel my heart fluttering in my chest and it was hard to breathe. After taking a detailed history and considering my current lifestyle, he asked,
“Are you concerned about anything in your life? Stressed out for any reason?”
I explained the little bit about crossing an ocean.
He looked at me speculatively above his black framed glasses.
“Well there you have it,” he said closing the beige manila folder with my patient history. “I believe you are having panic attacks. I can give you a sedative, but what you really need to do is talk to someone about this. Do you have a counselor or psychiatrist you could talk to?”
I told him I didn't but could probably find someone.
“Good. Find someone to talk to. If you are still having the attacks, come back to me and I can prescribe a sedative. Maybe run some further tests.”
When I got home, I remembered my friend Dave who specializes in sports psychology. A couple years previous he had told me that one of the main things athletes struggle with is fear in some form. Since Dave was a member and coach of Canada's National Free-Style Ski Team and holds two Guinness World Records for duration skiing, I figured he might be able to help me out.
I called him up and told him we were thinking about crossing the ocean and I was pretty sure I was having panic attacks and was wondering if he could help me. He asked me to describe them.
“Shortly after I have fallen asleep, I wake up with a gasp, my gut is totally constricted and my heart is pounding. I feel like I am hyperventilating.”
“Sounds about right,” he said. “Okay. Normally I don't like working with someone over the phone, but since I'm familiar with you guys and your situation, if you have a few minutes, I'd like to work through something with you. So get yourself comfortable and alone. No one else should be in the room. You ready?
I went to my stateroom, shut the door, and sat cross legged on the bed.
“Ready.”
“Okay,” Dave began, speaking softly and slowly, pausing in between sentences, “I want you to close your eyes. Now, I'd like you to imagine that you are in a movie theater. It is one of those lovely old theaters with carved moldings and ornate balconies, and there are those big, heavy, velvet, red draperies with gold trim, hanging in front of the screen at the front. The chairs are padded and covered in red velvet and very comfortable. I want you to sit in one of them. It is quiet. You are the only one in the theater. Can you picture that?”
“Yes,” I said, my eyes closed.
“The drapes are slowly parting now and a movie begins to play. It is a movie of you and the rest of the family in your boat. You are crossing the ocean. There is no land for miles. Can you see it?
“Yes.”
I want you to describe the scene for me as you see it played out in your worst fears. Make sure you describe yourself in the scene and how you are responding.”
“Okay. We are in between Bermuda and the Azores. Miles from help. I notice dark storm clouds forming on the horizon. I am worried. Eventually they catch up with us. The wind is howling and the waves get big. Maybe twenty-five feet. They come at us from all directions. We are tossed around inside. Things fall over. Mike bashes his head. He is bleeding. Water is pounding against the windows. One of the pilothouse windows breaks and water comes crashing in. The kids are crying and afraid. Mike is trying to fix things. I am….I am frozen with the fear that we are going to sink and die. I can't move. I can hardly breathe.”
I paused and heard Dave's soft voice, “Are you feeling anything other than fear?”
“Mostly fear, but….also hopelessness. Helplessness. And regret that we ever did this in the first place.”
“Good. Okay, Kim, I want you to stop now. The movie has ended and the drapes are closing again. The lights have come back on, but I want you to stay in the theater. Keep sitting in your seat. Take a couple of deep breaths. Feeling okay?”
“Yes.”
“Now the curtains are opening again, the lights are dimming, and the same movie begins to play. I want you to describe the same scene only this time I want you to describe your reaction if you were brave. What things would you say and do as the courageous you?”
“All right. I see the same god awful storm with large waves and lightening. The brave me is standing by the helm watching it happen. Water is pouring in. The kids are crying and afraid.”
I stopped here and groped to figure out what was going on inside of me. Trying to own the concept of bravery.
“What emotions are the brave you feeling?” Dave prompted.
“This is interesting. I a
m experiencing a surprising emotion. The brave me is angry that this is happening. I am very angry. I am thinking that this storm is not going to get the better of me, but even if it does, I'm going to fight it. So I…I leave the helm and start mopping up water with a towel. When it becomes clear that we're going to sink, I help Mike with the life raft and get everyone inside it.”
“Good, do you feel anything else besides anger?”
“I feel…determined. Confident. Strong.”
“Any fear at all?”
“Some. Yes, I am still afraid, but the fear has taken a back seat to my determination to fight the circumstances.”
“Excellent. Take a few deep breaths. The drapes are closing. You can stand up now and leave the theater. Are you still feeling okay?”
“Yes.”
“This is a very simple Neuro Linguistic Programming exercise. What I'd like you to do is to take some time this afternoon and journal about this experience. Think about some of the other things in your life that you are afraid of, a loved one dying for instance, and imagine how the brave you would respond in those circumstances. Make sure to record what you are feeling. Then call me back tomorrow with your thoughts.”
That night I wrote in my journal: “What I find amazing in this simple exercise is that for so long I have considered myself a fearful person that I'd forgotten there were other ways to respond. It never occurred to me that I could be brave in that kind of situation. That it could be part of who I was. Seeing myself acting bravely on that screen reminded me that there were options. How could I have missed something so incredibly simple?”
I called Dave back the next day and told him, “I have been in the habit all these years of responding to fear as a fearful person and approaching Fear from a position of subservience. It helped a great deal to imagine myself acting as a brave person. The image is very powerful. Something switched inside my brain, yesterday. And another thing, I know the odds of us being in a storm of that caliber are slim, but the odds of losing a child to SIDS are slim as well. While I kept telling myself ‘everything would be okay,’ deep down I didn't believe it. I don't trust the odds anymore and my mind isn't fooled by them because if the odds happened to me once, they could happen again.”
“This is why you are still struggling. Your mind cannot be fooled anymore by stats. It knows that no one can promise you that there is a 100 percent chance that you won't run into a storm, or that you won't lose another loved one. The only thing you can do is to retrain yourself in how to positively and creatively respond to that fear. Then the question is no longer “what IF something like that happens,” but “WHEN something like that happens, I will respond with this positive emotion.” Learn to listen to yourself. Try to distinguish that fear voice in your head and address it as if you are standing outside yourself in the third person. Coach yourself. In the coming days, record what the negative voice inside you is saying. Try to counter that voice with a positive, brave, message.”
“One more thing,” he said continuing. “Have you heard of Julian of Norwich?”
“Yes, but I don't know much about her. She was a Nun right? A mystic?”
“She was a hermit, an anchoress, not a nun. A mystic, yes. She devoted her life to contemplative prayer in the late 1300's. She used to say, ‘All shall be well, and all shall be well, all manner of things will be well.’ I think, Kim, that when you accept that despite great suffering you can survive and live fully again, only then will you be released from the bondage of fearing the unknown. You survived losing a child, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have already survived one of the worst things life can dish out. Release your fear of the unknown. All will eventually be well. All manner of things will be well. Trust that the God of the Universe has, ultimately, a larger agenda with our wholeness in mind.”
He said it as if it solved everything. I wasn't sure it was as easy as that. I said, “Maybe it is a process?”
“Yes, yes, it is a process. A journey. One that you will likely wrestle with for the rest of your life. But, it should get easier. Like anything, you must practice to become adept.”
In the following days I thought a lot about that quote from Julian of Norwich. I also noticed a real trend in my thought processes. I often responded toward problems, even small ones, with a negative, fearful, and often victimized voice, as if I was at the complete mercy of what life handed to me instead of a co-conspirator. Sometimes this attitude would emerge as a joke. I shared some of this with Mike and the kids, who took it upon themselves to check my negative responses.
While docking into a tight spot, I said sarcastically one day, “Oh great, we're gonna die!”
Lauren grabbed my arm and said, “Mom, are you hiding a negative thought pattern inside a joke? I think you are. I want to hear you say that we are absolutely NOT going to die. We are going to do a fantastic job docking. Come on, now, let me hear you say it.”
I thought: ‘Oh that's great, just what I need in my life, three mini would-be psychoanalysts evaluating me.’ But I knew she was right. I actively listened to what I was saying both out loud and in my head. I took each event as it happened and meditated on it in the mornings. I filled the ruts formed from bad habits in my brain with what little soil remained before tromping off through the bush to form a new path.
35
While in Florida, I decided to cross the Atlantic. I decided to cross mainly because I knew that if Mike and the kids went without me, I would never be able to live with myself. I had imagined future conversations when one of the kids would say something like, “Oh! Remember that time we were in between Bermuda and the Azores and we saw that huge whale! That was so amazing!” And then the three of them would recount all of the glories of the Atlantic crossing and I would sit in silence and regret. I was fairly certain I would rather be swept overboard and die at sea than be forced into a lifetime of such moments. And there was one other reason, slight as it was. A dogged curiosity that made me both wonder what was out there and how I would respond to it that, in the end, always seemed to tip the scales in favor of exploration over fear.
Our plan was to make it to the Mediterranean. I still had a hard time focusing on the anticipation of traveling through countries like Morocco, Spain, France, and Italy, because I was so preoccupied with simply “making it” to the Pillars of Hercules. In fact, I knew that the greatest mental feat for me would be our arrival in the Azores after the longest and most dangerous crossing. After that, there were a couple shorter crossings to the mouth of the Mediterranean, but these were closer to land and in more heavily traveled waters. I knew that with the larger crossing accomplished, I could enjoy the rest of the passage more fully.
Lauren, having experienced a soul awakening, was excited to go to the Mediterranean, as were Stefan and Mike for different reasons. Stefan believed the crowning achievement would be to jump into the water midway between Bermuda and the Azores. While having coffee in the cockpit one evening, Mike confessed to me that the thought of being in the middle of the Atlantic made him a little nervous. He hadn't mentioned it before because one fearful person was enough to deal with in a relationship. He said, “I have to say that I tried that NLP exercise Dave had you do, the one where you watched yourself on the screen. It helped.”
I was a little taken aback by Mike's confession of fear. It was strange, I thought, that I could live in such close proximity with Mike and still not be aware of what he was thinking. I wondered, then, how he was processing everything. I asked him, “Is this what you imagined back in university when we wrote down on our dream list ‘live on a boat’?”
“It is…” he paused. “You know, for all my life I have lived for the rush of a moment. I have loved the high of adrenalin that doing wild and crazy things provided. Those fearful moments make a great story out of my life, which as you know, I use to my advantage,” he smiled before going on. “Experiencing this live-aboard life, this much-quieter-than-I-had- anticipated life, is causing me to take
a deep look at myself and my journey. I feel like I am coming at life from a more whole position. I accept who I am here and now, rather than placing my life on hold waiting for the next daring moment and allowing those moments to define me. All the things that matter most to me exist in the simple day to day. I am learning to value those moments. I don't think I will ever stop enjoying adventure, but that need is starting to take its proper place in my life. And I am not so sure that there isn't a fair bit of adventure in the simple things anyway. It just depends a great deal on how you look at it.”
Practically speaking, there was a lot to do to prepare for the passage. I hauled out our ditch bag to re-examine its contents. This large, yellow, nylon duffel held everything we needed in case Chrysalis floundered and we would have to launch the life raft and abandon ship. Its contents would allow us to survive at sea for a number of days. I was assured by all offshore cruisers that planning for this is of grave importance; a matter of life or death. I took their advice and tried to keep the picture of the “brave” me in my mind.
Rummaging through the bag's musty contents, I found a watermaker. I read the label and was told that it would take sea water and make roughly 1 liter of fresh water an hour. Not bad. In addition there were about 40 pouches of sealed fresh drinking water. The directions on the back read: “If stranded in a life raft, make every attempt at drinking no water during the first 24 hours unless sick or injured. Thereafter, crew may be allowed 2 pouches (holding 4 ozs each) of water daily until rescued.”