Adventures on Beannacht

Wow, we actually did it!

It’s hard to take in, but we’ve actually said goodbye to friends and family, and to our city for the last time. I’m currently sitting in the upper atmosphere reflecting on our new status:

Travellers
Unemployed
Homeless

(it’s important to me to note that these are priviledged labels for us to adopt because we are choosing them, and that in our ability to choose them our experiences are wholly different to those who are nomadic, unemployed or homeless without the luxury of choice)

Pursuing journey, not destination.

Much was left undone, once again we’ve tested the generosity of friends and family and are deeply grateful for their resilience. Special mentions to the Frys for a home, Tim for late night muscle; and mum, dad, Neil and Claire for accepting a chaotic ending.

Time created by air travel feels frustrated, 8 hours to transition into our new lives, interrupted by Ginger Chicken and films that must have went straight to tv.

I dont quite have the resource for this yet. In 6 hours I’ll be back in a city I love, but back in a different way than before. Not quite a tourist, neither a resident, Vancouver is base camp for final preparations.

Each step this far has felt small and managable. Sell the house. Resign from work. Say goodbyes. But somehow the magnitude of actually buying a boat, and the cavernous unknown that it evokes brings butterflies deep inside.

Belfast has felt less homely since this dream was birthed. One suggested I’d created distance to diminish the pain of leaving. Perhaps that’s true, although it hasn’t been coscious. Cultivating new passions certainly provided fresh distractions and perhaps greener grasses blossomed?

But in the closing weeks the warmth of friends illuminates what we’re leaving behind. Tuesday nights will not be the same, two-wheeled adventures and Saturday markets will certainly have a new complexion. All will be missed for their contribution to my person.

I play things close to my chest when it suits me. Tears are few and far between, but there were tears today. This was a perfect week. Golf with dad, breakfast with mum, dinner with Neil and Claire. Spaces selected to convey affection, deep respect and interdependance. Should I not return I have not withheld my care and have no regrets.

At a recent family funeral the minister reminded the congregation that funerals were a time to reflect on ones relationship with God and ensure that they were prepared for their own death. To me this felt like a complete over-looking of the value and significance of our humanity, and also an intrusion into the private grieving of those gathered to remember the life of a treasured friend.

As I talked with Keli about it afterwards I was struck not by the need to prepare for an arrival in the next life, but rather a departure from this one. That taking time to cherish these short sacred moments with those around us is of a much higher importance than second guessing a way to the next life. I’m convinced that experiencing humanity to the fullest is actually the truest and fullest response to the divine in ones life.

It needs some refining, but this perhaps best describes my sense of vocation around the sailing adventure. Probing significance without traditional structures like employment and outside the mono-culture of Northern Ireland.

Exploring new lands and peoples to develop greater empathy and awareness of the richness of humanity.

Physical challenge and the risk of propelling ourselves across the fluid surface of the planet.

Creating space for new ideas, new responses to the world, and new vision for living.

A dear friend advised us that “good endings make for good beginnings”. I feel content to say I took her advice and leave Belfast with a sense of achievement, nourishing friendships, and strength to endure the physical, mental and emotional challeges ahead.

Keli and I are both endebted to the wisdom and words of John O’Donohue, Irish poet, author and mystic, who died tragically at the beginning of this year. John’s insight helped create a language for my own belief, and we decided to name our boat Beannacht, blessing in Irish, as a recognition of the inspiration he brought to us, and of our connection to Ireland. More than anyone John helped me understand the value of our humanity and of how the pursuit of faith is actually a very grounded human experience.

And so I begin this adventure feeling profoundly optimistic about endless possibilities, extremely grateful for the opportunity, and having prepared to exit without regret should something unexpected occur.

I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be, nor could i wish for better, more nourishing and supportive friends and family.

I’m lucky, mum would say I was born lucky. But I’m also extremely thankful.

I don’t expect to be the same again.