Since our last Pathfinder report, we have traveled the 240 miles from Fort Pierce, Florida to Key West. Along the way, I would estimate we have heard some version of Jimmy Buffet 500 times. Apparently, tourists expect a mind-numbing repetition of "tropical" music, none written in the last 40 years. Don't worry, be happy.
I have substituted "cheeseburger" in the Buffet song for "humble pie," as I have made about every goober mistake you can make on a boat. I thought I was quite the docking artist, having learned on a very heavy, deep boat. With a much lighter, shallower boat, in a much windier environment, my docking efforts have required a phalanx of helpful neighbors, dock assistants and the Almighty to keep me from smashing millions of dollars of other people's fiberglass.
I have annoyed bridge operators (lots of draw bridges), homeowners (I honestly didn't think I was making a wake) and other boaters because I was on the wrong radio channel.
I was sure I had run aground and damaged the running gear, only to have the guy in the boatyard, after a $900 haul out, tell me that everything was normal, and it was probably in my head. He suggested counseling.
I read the weather report as favorable from Marathon, Florida to Key West, only to get the stuffing pounded out of us - 70 miles of riding a PBR bull.
As you boaters and RV users know, the community of people makes the experience. Folks could not have been kinder, less judgmental, or helpful. Do you need a ride? Need a tool? Advice? A cold beer?
Our dock mates are intrigued by the Montana hailing port on the back of the boat - how did you get it here? Where is Montana exactly? I do play up the grizzly bear that occasionally wanders across our property.
Key West has long since been discovered, much less quaint now and more overrun. The traffic is dense. There is an air naval base and a very busy commercial airport near our marina, so the sky is frequently shredded by muffler-free jet engines.
But there is a great natural beauty, fabulous sunsets, interesting art and the weather - low today of 72, high of 76. Humidity north of that.
I am learning gratitude for the comforts of day-to-day land living. I rarely think of sewers at home (after the initial battle with Missoula County), the lights work reliably and the water flows. Now there are sump pumps, pump outs, recalcitrant electrical breakers and the water gauge. A trip to Jiffy Lube? Six oil filters, six fuel filters, three impellers and three air filters. Twelve liters of oil per engine.
I felt I left my surgical career at the very peak of my powers - deeply experienced, hands effortlessly wired to my intentions, judgment honed through four decades.
Maybe the universe thought I was a bit smug. Maybe this challenging transition will spare me from the existential despair many surgeons experience when they are no longer The Man. Maybe we all need those pressures, those challenges, those growth factors that force us to revitalize our relationships, learn new skills, deepen our faith and fight the insidious erosion of aging. Crossword puzzles are fine, but the occasional dose of terror probably gets some neurons off the bench.
Humility, vulnerability and goober mistakes, somewhat to my surprise, seem to elicit more warmth and consideration than scorn. It isn't perfection that binds us together, it is the shared humanity of our worries and screw-ups.
It's time to reach for my headphones. The guy playing at the bar on the dock is winding into "Margaritaville."
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