Expiration Dates.


I haven't written in two months.  You know what that means, right?  I've been drinking and feel like I have something to say.

I went to see my financial planner today.  I made an appointment with a CPA.  I called utility companies.  

You know why all that happened?  Because I can never escape the fact that my career feels like it comes with an expiration date.  

I've officially been sailing for eleven years.  Do you know what I've never figured out?  How to stop.  Oh trust me, there are other things I haven't figured out but, the thing that plagues me?Why the eff don't I want to stop sailing?  Because there is an inherent truth....if I wanted to stop I would.  

I'm sitting cross legged on my love seat (you know the one that I bought in Houston, let sit in a storage unit for over a year and then shipped home to Hawaii unnecessarily?) sipping a cocktail, admiring my home made cinderblock bookshelf and rocking out to Fleetwood Mac (although I'm not rocking out too loudly because I have airbnb guests upstairs...).

It is seriously times like these when I think, 'is this all going to make sense some day?'.  

Don't get me wrong, there is another part of me that thinks, 'why does it all need to make sense?!'.  

It doesn't negate the fact that there is a constant battle in my head...

At sea this last go around, I felt some old wounds start to heal.  Itchy scabs of past hurts.  Confession?  I didn't know some of these wounds existed until I felt the uncomfortable growth of new skin.  It surprised me.  It made me grateful for new friendships.  It embarrassed me.  

Bottom line?  I felt happy.  Happy at work for the first time in actual years.  YEARS.

It was simultaneously overwhelming and exhilarating.  All of the feelings.  All of the fun.

There really isn't an answer to how many years I have left.  There are vodka limes.  There are lit candles.  There are good sleeps.  There are watercolor post cards thanking friends for all they do in my absence.  There is a fridge full of fresh veggies.  There is housework to complete.  There are excursions.  There is no answer.  

I have a month home this go around.  Enjoy home I tell myself.  Relax I tell myself.  

...and then this is what it boils down to...there is no answer...I just have to keep on keepin' on.  

Want to know where the blog went?  Straight to my brain.  It's all here.  It's ripe for the picking.  I just never know anymore how much to share and how much to savor.  How much of myself should just be laying out there for people to read.  It just doesn't feel as straight forward as it once did.  

Here's to cocktails.  Here's to vacation. Here's to expiration dates.  

Here's also to saying fuck all of it.  All.  Of.  It.