I Sailed Away From My (Sexless) Marriage

It’s true. Twenty-seven feet of fibreglass with a water view became my new home. It was idiocy or sheer brilliance to take to the sea.

Divorce was inevitable. That much was certain. There was no way to repair the breakages. We’d tried. Without children to consider, leaving the disaster became appealing and possible. So I did. With a boat!

Everyone in a long-term deeply troubled marriage dreams of walking away someday. Sadly, very few do. Kids aside, the fear of being alone, ostracised by family or church, losing everything and starting from scratch is too much to bear. It’s easier to stay and bear the burden than go through that experience.

Unfortunately, that’s as good as selling your soul. It was something I couldn’t do.

I did walk away, but in a different way. My choice to use sail meant I also severed my ties with the mainland. (And there were bonuses for doing that that I never considered. More about that later)

The transition from land to water was weird, to say the least. One day, I was mowing my suburban-sized lawn and paying utility bills, and the next, I was on the water heading towards an unknown horizon. Last Laugh and I were about to be alone on an open sea. I wasn’t sure if I’d made the right choice, as I knew nothing about sailing!

I had to learn the ropes quickly because the sea doesn’t forgive. It’s relentless, doesn’t discriminate, and doesn’t care about someone’s fear or past. You learn to adapt to life on the ocean or die. That’s it. There’s no other rule.

And you never master the water. You find ways to live with it. It’s a never-ending puzzle that constantly needs solving. It’s a perfect way to keep the mind busy for a recently separated male. There’s little time to remunerate while managing the weather, tides, wind, navigation, water collection, electricity generation, food, sail, and engine maintenance.

As you can tell, I didn’t die from the experience. I survived. I’m on land again. Five years was enough to find myself again. The water life reset my spirit. I landed ashore and sold the yacht shortly after. Everything I was when leaving wasn’t me when I got back. The distance from the land and the time away from it shielded me from the usual awkward moments, questions and explanations that follow breakups, separations and divorces. My in-laws had vanished. Mutual friends disappeared into the past. I had a blank canvas before me. All I had to do was paint something new.

The part about having no previous sailing experience was/is true. The basic principles of sailing were in my head, but I’d never raised a sail before. Not ever. Once that mainsail reached the top of the mast, what happened was a frightening experience. The boat tipped and lurched. It felt like it would tip right over. I held tight, turned off the auxiliary motor and let the wind take charge. The yacht tilted a bit more, but it didn’t fall down. I grabbed the wheel and felt the tension in the helm. That was my sailing induction. No one was with me to tell me I was doing it right or wrong.

My twenty-seven-foot Roberts was self-contained. I had everything. Sure, there were some limitations to living a life aboard a yacht. There were no supermarkets. Internet access was limited. Taking a long walk was out of the question. I had the best and worst of weather. When it wasn’t kind, I had a lot of work to do. When it was, I had paradise.

Before you, dear reader, believe that sun-kissed skin and gentle breezes are the standard sailing experience, it’s not—Nature’s grace swings both ways and does so in equal measures. A boat has no brakes. Nothing remains still. None of it stays level. Sleeping is often done with active listening. Sometimes, one eye remains open. This kind of home can sink and never be found again. The paradise you might think it is is fleeting.

There’s not much sailing being done now; in fact, none at all. My new partner and I bought a small motorboat and now fish in calm waters instead.

I miss sailing, but I don’t miss the process of starting over again. And I certainly don’t miss the disaster that started it all in the first place.

That tragedy went into the novel I wrote while sailing the Big Blue. (see below – download free for a limited time)

–Michael