My weekend has been quiet. I was so busy last weekend with visiting people in the community and attending the Stand Up to Fascism demo, and then passing my brown belt grading, I really just needed some me time.
I haven't had any great ambition to push forward with my boating career, I guess, because I have been doing well at my new job as an Assistive Technology trainer and SEN mentor. I gained my PB2 last June and have been volunteering on a safety boat for a yacht club. I got away from quasi-military volunteer spaces, and whatever. It's not for me. My sea cadet days are far behind me.
I love the sea, not ranks and strange power dynamics and failure to uphold even basic decency.
I haven't given up boating. I still have my PB2, I am just not sure what to do with it now that I have consistent work. We shall see for the coming year which courses I will do and what I might get up to.
My seafaring friend is still seafaring. He writes me emails telling me the sea is rough. One email literally was I am in the middle of the sea, somewhere, no idea where. He seems happy and fine most of the time. Perhaps I feel jealous when he gets to drive a massive ship and see something fantastic. Above is a picture he sent me of somewhere in the North Sea.
Last year was pretty terrible, if I am honest. I had a major chest infection and had to sign off work, was mistreated dreadfully by an apparent charity I used to volunteer for, and was pretty much flat broke. I had no idea that getting this new role as an AT Trainer would turn my life around.
Sure, the immediate desire to run away to sea to escape the hardships of the land has faded, but the love remains, even after experiencing discrimination; It is in the blood.
You can't give up your passions because of a few unpleasant people who are outdated and haven't kept up with the times. Also, don't shrink to fit with them either.
My life didn't magically get better when I embraced my sea-faring roots; in fact, if anything, it brought more hardship into my life, as well as fun, enjoyment and passion. There is good in the bad and bad in the good.
One of the highlights of my year so far has been attending an inclusive shanty, group and sharing the love of shanty with a diverse range of people. Who cares if you are a sailor?
It beat being told to wear a beard for one shanty group because they wanted to keep it male and traditional. It was like I could breathe and be a feminine being in love with the sea and able to sing the songs we grew up singing in Pompey (yes, Drunken Sailor was a regular at assemblies in Primary). We can just be ourselves.
We even have plans to ruffle some of the old guard at the Falmouth sea shanty festival, and I am having the urge to look for a sea voyage I can book onto this year to make up for how landlocked I ended up being with the chest infection last Spring. But I am more cautious in which organisations I want to be involved with, etc. I want to feel safe and have fun, which was the opposite of last year.
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