Day 315

Fear. It comes in many forms. The form I'm facing right now is that of uncertainty and risk. I have a decision to make about my future – correction: about OUR future. I know what I want to do, that part is easy. It's the decision of whether or not to make that left turn at this stage in life that scares me. 

A couple of weeks ago, Dawn and I went to Rhode Island for a long weekend, ostensibly to 'get away' for a few days. Or so we told people. The reality was slightly different. 

For as long as I can remember I have been drawn to the water, boats, and sailing. While I have been able to realize my passion for sailing and racing, there has been another aspect to my love of boats that has gone unfulfilled – learning how to build them. Of special interest to me is the art of wooden boat building. 

Unlike boats built from myriad other construction materials (namely fiberglass), wooden boats are alive. Rich with character and old world charm. The craftsmanship that goes into building one from raw timber, when done right, is a thing to be revered. Praised. Like most things in life, most of us are equipped to learn the basic skills. What separates the true artisans from the everyman is, I'm guessing, a combination of talent, dedication and study. To know the craft intimately; to push the envelope. This appeals to me on many levels. Mostly because once I learn how to do it, I want to be able to teach others the same skills. I also want to write about it. To convey the feelings it evokes as one is able to create this thing of beauty from the raw material that was once a tree. 

There are other appeals to building wooden boats, not the least of which is that it registers with all the senses: sight, smell, sound, touch, and (even) taste. (Think sawdust in the mouth.)  Contrasting this with software, its development, deployment and support, which I've done my entire career, software is largely one dimensional. About the only sense that it registers with is that of sight, either from the perspective of those building it who can see the code they are writing, or those using it, who see the user interface as they interact with it. While there is some reward in delivering software that meets or exceeds the customer's expectation in terms of features and / or usability, the process of getting to that point has become less and less fulfilling for me over the years. Moreover, the sense of daily accomplishment is elusive if not outright non-existent. What did I get done today? Yesterday? Last week? It's difficult to stand back and see the progress of software. Not being able to regularly feel a sense of accomplishment has been dragging me down more over the last few years. I'm left feeling unfulfilled, dissatisfied. Meh. I compensate for this lack of professional fulfillment by doing chores that, while mundane, provide the gratification of tangible progress. Like washing the dishes and mowing the lawn. While these activities can take the edge off, they don't address the core problem. 

The trip to Rhode Island was primarily undertaken in order that I could tour a school located in Newport that specializes in teaching people the trade of wooden boat building. This was not the first time I had visited IYRS (pronounced "eye-ris", like the flower - iris). Dawn and I had first stumbled onto the International Yacht Restoration School (IRYS) in the mid-90s not long after they had first opened. We had gone to Newport for the day with my aunt (Emily) to check out the city and bask in its maritime history and glory. I had no idea that IRYS even existed until we walked into the building and saw students working on their wooden boats. I was instantly smitten. So much so that I got churlish when it was time to leave. We visited again about 10 years later, probably around 2005. Each time we had visited IYRS, the idea of enrolling and going through the program was the stuff of daydream fantasies – like winning the lottery. I had a career, a wife, a mortgage, and before long a son. I was locked inside the hamster wheel, running a marathon. Then December 11, 2021 happened and - SNAP! - everything changed. 

Damian's death has impacted me in different ways. For one, it left me reeling for months as it had completely up-ended my life's plan, the question of "what now" repeating in my head for weeks on end. For another, Damian's death helped me to better appreciate how short life is. In response, I've started to put a premium on doing things that make me feel good about myself. I don't want to go through the rest of my life enduring each day. I want to do and experience things that make me feel whole and fulfilled. Finally, Damian's death has removed some significant financial obligations. as I no longer have to pay for private school or save for his college tuition. If ever there was a time to get off the hamster wheel, it's now. 

So now here I sit, at a crossroads. I could go straight and stay on the same path that I've been on, continue working for ETI, stay in the same house, etc., etc., etc. I could turn right and either relocate to a different state - we don't want to stay in Georgia - or find a different job but still inline with my skills and work experience, or both. Or I can turn left. Leave Georgia for Rhode Island and attend IYRS. Learn to work with my hands. To shape ruff hewn boards into a boat's frames and planks. To create the fair lines of a hull that will someday slice through the water. To become a shipwright. 

I really want to go left, I do, but I'm scared to turn the wheel and hit the gas. What does that say about me? Am I a coward?