“…in your belly you hold the treasures few have ever seen, most of them dream, most of them dream”
- Jimmy Buffett, A Pirate Looks at Forty
It is the eve of my thirtieth birthday – a birthday which carries me into the next decade of life. A situation about which I am not excited. Why is it that turning thirty is a milestone typically not met with excitement, but rather faced with a bit of dread? Numerous people have told me it was their hardest birthday – people including my father. He spent his thirtieth birthday biking hundreds of miles through the lower peninsula of Michigan, not a small feat. There are many “milestone” birthdays throughout life, but unlike turning thirty, most so far have been accompanied by something new and exciting – “sweet 16” and the freedom of the open road, 18 with its ability to vote (and buy tobacco if that’s your thing), 21 and the apparent gained maturity with regard to alcohol not possessed the day prior, back when a wee 20 year old. Thirty however brings a different set of newfound life circumstances – a deteriorating metabolism, the conversion of abs to fat, and the assumption that one has their life figured out. As a “twenty-something” it is acceptable to still be unsure of how life is going to pan out – jumping jobs, careers, going back to school, still thinking you may find love at first sight when out with friends – all accepted norms – but magically, once the ID indicates an age of 30, all those things are supposed to be figured-out.
What is it about “eves” that separates them from the following day? Technically, it’s the turning of minutes on the clock and rotation of the Earth, but, for me at least, “eves” are a time for reflection, whereas the “day of” tends to be one of celebration. Christmas Eve has always been a time of reflecting on family and the true meaning of Christmas rather than the sounds of ripping wrapping paper which have come to characterize Christmas morning – quite honestly, I dislike Christmas, but I love Christmas Eve. For boaters and sailors, the eve of departure is a time of reflection of sorts too. The breeze takes on a new mystery as one wonders into what it will develop come the next morning, the sounds of the waves grow ominous as the mind wanders to thoughts of a turned up and rough sea to greet you upon departure. The evening coffee, when accompanied by the droning voice of NOAA takes on a different flavor – the flavor of slight anxiety, regardless of the trip size or however many times one has left the dock in the past.
On this eve of my thirtieth birthday, rather than celebrating my last night as a twenty-something at a bar with friends as one co-worker assumed would be the case, I just finished catching up on some accounting for the foundation on whose board I serve – all very “adultish” really. As I write this, I am seated at my favorite corner table at Starbucks – a table where I have spent countless hours over the years – well, not this exact physical table – the store has been remodeled at least twice since it opened (change is inevitable), but this spot. At this table, I studied on weekends when I came home from college. At this table I spent hours studying for the CPA exam – during which time I logged so many hours in this seat they regularly brought me a coffee without charge and the baristas could be overheard “feeling sorry for me” and my hours of study. At this table, I used to catch up on administrative forms for work – before they ixnayed that freedom. At this table, I updated my resume and applied for countless jobs. At this table, I now sit with my free birthday reward pumpkin spice latte composing this rambling narrative. With this table, I have shared many “eves” – eves of tests, eves of important meetings, eves of the inevitable rejection letters from prospective employers, and now, the eve of turning thirty.
The coffee is a little different on this eve though, I am enjoying this nearly 400 calorie treat even though my metabolism is going to start slowing exponentially upon the stroke of midnight. Yes, it is the eve of my thirtieth birthday (I don’t know if I have made that clear enough yet), yes there is a sense of anxiety, but the circumstances surrounding this birthday – one I have long dreaded – are such that I am able to reflect on what lies ahead, the pursuit of a dream.
Legendary French-Canadian single-handed sailor, author, and inventor of the Cape Horn Windvane, Yves Gelinas once said something to the effect of (paraphrasing here), “in order to ease your mind, you either have to forget about your desires, or make them come true.” It is the latter I intend to do in this next year of life. This birthday represents the year during which I will start the pursuit of making a dream come true – to leave behind, even if only temporarily, the muddling life that has come to describe the near-decade since graduating college – and to take on the challenge of evolving a dream into reality. In doing so, there will be many more “eves” – the eve of my last day at work, the eve of the first departure and the many departures to follow, the eve of the first day back home, the eve of returning to “reality” – but these are eves of accomplishment, eaves of exiting new responsibilities. Perhaps, the eve of this thirty-year milestone, like 16, 18, and 21 preceding it, is one to be embraced with excitement amongst the anxiety.
Just as Jimmy Buffett sang about a pirate reflecting on turning 40 – and the ocean holding the dreams of the many who have sailed her (or perhaps more so, dreams of those who longed to sail her without ever seeing those dreams into fruition), this blog is a place of reflections on sailing (literally) into the next decade of my life and the pursuit of a longtime dream. It was my hope to compose some deep philosophical initial blog post that would attract the attention of a sailing magazine editor who would drop her coffee and immediately shoot me an email requesting I write a piece for the upcoming edition. However, rather than a well edited piece – reread numerous times and slightly improved with each revision, here stands something genuine and unedited – something not reread but heartfelt. Something that, in keeping with the melancholy nature of so many eves past and eves to come, is reflective on what has been and what lies ahead, as this pirate looks at thirty.