It’s the morning of day 336 at sea. The air feels different this particular morning. The waves don’t have the same rhythm, and the hues of light peering through the cabin tell me I’m no longer in the deep blue expanse. For the first time in 11 months, I awake to a forest green coastline, rich turquoise waters, and mixed emotions. I’m eager to reach shore yet pensive about leaving my floating capsule of 11 months. I’m excited about reunifying with loved ones and uncertain if the weather will cooperate. I have 5 miles remaining of the meandering 10,000-mile slog across the Pacific Ocean. I made it! Almost. I need to hit shore of my own accord or I’ll risk completing the journey without making landfall. It’s not mandatory to make landfall of my own accord, but it would be a nice feather in my cap. I’ve come this far, and it’s time to see this through to the end.
That was over a year ago. I said I would write about this final day long ago. Instead, I’ve been roaming the halls of suffering. The successful achievement quelled my ego’s anxieties, but the relief would prove temporary. Something was still missing. One would think 336 days alone is enough time to formulate a detailed plan of the future. Or at least a worthy aim point and the inklings of where to begin. My planning ended the second I reached shore, which felt liberating. It was a fresh start. The liberation allowed for infinite possibility. I embraced the freedom and began creating thousands of potential futures. It was a wonderland of imagination that would prove unsustainable. As we all know, whether we’re surrounded by loved ones or alone at sea, the mind drifts effortlessly. I didn’t pay attention to the careless drifting. I experienced it. I embodied it. And my mind began roaming with reckless abandon. I was unconsciously allowing the narrative of thought to apprehend my full attention. Whether alone or in a crowd, my thoughts reigned supreme. Thoughts that became increasingly destructive. Something was still missing.
I couldn’t see the marina in the distance, but I could identify a landmark called “Yorkeys Knob” signifying a distinct reference to my destination. The morning hours ticked by as I waited for the Australian Volunteer Coast Guard to arrive. I oscillated between wistful daydreams and the impending practicalities of safe landfall. We planned an early morning coast guard arrival with my family on board, where I’d then release anchor and row directly to the nearest marina. Of course, the plan didn’t carry the final word, it was contingency planning that sealed my fate. When the distinctive coast-guard-yellow eventually appeared over the horizon, I prepared for the final push. I knew it was going to be rough day despite the short distance to shore. The winds were again attempting to thwart my efforts. I needed a westerly course, but the winds and squalls were intent on pulling me north towards dangerous shores. Before I knew it, the diesel-powered vessel was upon me with familiar faces waving and strained hellos attempting to bridge the gap. Surreal. Let’s cut anchor and get to work.
If you don’t live life, life will happen to you. It became increasingly clear. I wanted to return to aviation, fly for a year or two, save some money, then begin the next adventure. It was a means to an end. A logic that would prove not just faulty, but catastrophic. Yet, it was the plan and so I embarked. I was hired as a pilot, went through weeks of training, regained my qualifications, then prepared to travel overseas for work. Then the virus arrived. Travel ceased, my resources dwindled, and my anxieties grew. Life started happening to me. It started happening to all of us. Travel finally opened up, but due to a hitch in my government Top Secret clearance, I was delayed further. The pressure of life happening to me was building. In an interview with NPR, I said that with no career, no romantic relationship, and no children, I could begin articulating goals for every category of my life then forthrightly move towards those goals. Instead, under the pressure of randomness, no career became anxiety about the future, no stable romantic relationship or children became insecurity and shame, and the virus-induced isolation from friends became a sense of lack. I wasn’t paying attention, I became increasingly distracted, and attention to my personal health began to decline. This is the definition of suffering. Something was still missing.
It should’ve taken 2-3 hours to reach shore. Broadside breaking waves, winds, and intermittent squalls added several more hours. In order to row non-stop, I memorized my required course over the ground, the angles I could potentially lose, and divert options. I didn’t want to miss the mark, or any mark that ended in disaster for that matter. The hours passed, the distance closed, but I was slowly losing ground to the north. Immediately north of my intended destination was a dangerous rocky outcropping. Obviously, I didn’t want to end there. I thought I could maybe squeeze south into the marina if I give it my all. Maybe not. No matter what I tried, the siren’s call was leading me straight for catastrophe. Less than a mile from completion, I had to make a decision. Keep fighting or adapt. I chose to abandon the marina and make landfall safely on a beach. Hopefully. This would prove a precarious decision. But there lies my fate, away from randomness and closer to my adaptation of the circumstances. Trinity Beach it shall be. I made the declaration via VHF radio and set sights on the golden sand directly north.
With the luxury of digital audio, I prepared a selection of learning opportunities to explore during my extended isolation. Amongst the selection contained material about meditation, yoga, and various spiritual discussions. I couldn’t say what drew me to such material, but it felt as though I kept encountering echoes of a deep longing. I couldn’t ignore it. There were no realizations or revelations at sea, but something deep within started shining through. Returning to land after 11 months of isolation was chaotic, disorienting, and ultimately unsatisfying. I needed a stabilizing force, so I volunteered at a healing center south of Sydney called Govinda Valley Retreat. I spent 6 weeks practicing yoga, connecting with amazing people, and formulating a path forward. Meanwhile, the emerging light within still longed for more. I listened. I was drawn to the mountains of Cusco, Peru to attend a yoga teacher certification course. There I encountered more wonderful people, learned great information, but ultimately left unsatisfied. Something was still missing.
It’s quiet now. Trinity beach is almost directly north, which means I’m now with the wind and waves. It’s much quieter when you’re not fighting nature. I simply set the rudder, waited, and let the wind take me home. I received intermittent radio calls of what to expect upon reaching shore. They were almost frivolous calls since little would change the outcome. I’ll take what I can get. My only intervention was to keep Emerson perpendicular to shore; I didn’t want to immediately fight against broaching. At the last minute, I saw an older gentleman strolling on the beach with red swimmers and a white polo shirt. As if I appeared from an ethereal mist, he suddenly faced me and says with a thick Australian accent “Tis a bit dodgy, innit!” Standing up, facing forward and ready for impact, I smile and say “It’s very dodgy.”
The decline into suffering wasn’t immediate. It was gradual. The more I tried to force a path into the virus-laden world, the more life responded with randomness of equal force. I was living in a world where every thought carried the weight of negativity, expectations, and consequences. Random encounters do not operate well in this space, and my growing inner turmoil was a clear indication of my growing dysfunction. My ego began screaming in self-generated agony. I felt the sand dissolving beneath the structure of my identity. The weight of suffering generated too much pressure and something cracked. I suddenly recognized my identity and ego as one in the same, and recognized that I am neither. A space between thoughts appeared. That tiny sliver of space allowed me to recognize that I’m not generating my thoughts. I recognized that each thought is a construct of mental narrative that ultimately does not exist. I recognized that I can choose to believe a negative thought, choose to believe a positive thought, or choose to abandon the thought altogether. I recognized there is only what is, and assigning belief to thought is a dangerous pursuit. I recognized that I am the awareness observing all thought. I recognized that I was trapped in a web of intellect and logic, completely unaware of the nature of being. It explained everything. It can’t be that easy! My intellect refused; it was incredulous. Something was still missing.
It’s such a peculiar sound, especially after 11 months. Yet here it was, Emerson’s hull slowly skidding to a halt in the Australian sand. Row complete! Almost. Officially yes, but as any pilot will say, the flight isn’t over until the chocks are in place and the engines are shut down. We need to get Emerson off the shore and tied to a dock before the day is done. Immediately after impact, I jumped out to stabilize Emerson. Instead, I immediately collapsed underwater. My legs didn’t quite remember how to function on land. I soon recovered amidst breaking waves on a steep shore, waves that continuously threatened broaching. We needed to stabilize Emerson or recovery would become increasingly difficult. In a matter of minutes, I was surrounded by dozens of citizens ready to give a helping hand. We grabbed the bow line and collectively extended the line perpendicular to shore. While the bow was pulled towards shore, more generous volunteers jumped in the ocean to stabilize the stern. More people arrive. I see family and friends waving and a confident journalist asking questions with a pointed camera. Standing on the shore with arms crossed and eyes fixed, two Australian Border Patrol officials ensure I don’t slip into the bush undocumented. Amusing. The boat is now somewhat stable, time to get off shore and finish this thing.
The space between thoughts revealed something profound. It revealed a subtle shift in perspective. It’s a shift so obvious, that my ego and intellect found it maddening. Instead of being immersed, identifying, and embodying thoughts or ideas, I could now see them as irrelevant manifestations of the mind. I was no longer attached to the ideas, but found they certainly can’t be ignored. I saw the constant ticker-tape of thought after thought, after thought, after thought, constantly streaming across the mind’s eye. I can now see when I’m captivated or mesmerized by a thought, and I can see the associated negative emotions that strengthen those thoughts. So, what does it mean? If the thoughts and negative emotions are being observed, who is doing the observing? Who is aware of my awareness? A separation is developing. Or one could say presence is emerging. Where is this presence emerging from? It’s emerging from the nature of being. Or one might say the nature of being is becoming apparent. Is this what was missing? But it seems so difficult to constantly be aware of my own awareness! Is that the answer? Something is still missing.
It’s time to get Emerson off shore. We needed a way to drag Emerson off the beach, back into deeper water. A coast guard crew motoring off shore contacted the Trinity Beach lifeguard station via VHF radio to formulate the plan. Stabilize the boat, then get the stern line in the hands of the crew that will pull me off shore. I see a lifeguard on a paddleboard leaving shore with my stern line. She makes contact, the line is secured, and I get confirmation that the crew is ready. I wave in response, see the slack between us vanishing, and prepare for departure. It was shocking to feel the power of a motorized vessel exerting it’s will after months of quiet passage. I found myself grasping the gunnel of the boat as my legs dragged though moving water. The boat was leaving with or without me! I managed to board Emerson, but the force of passing water ripped my starboard oar clean off the boat. I’m dismayed by the loss, but trust my companion will find a new home. I’m now back in open water with the thrill of landfall still vibrating throughout my body. One last step. Let’s get to the marina for a proper arrival.
What is being? What does Human Being mean? I realized all my seeking and exploring led me back to the simplest of questions. Who am I, really? What am I doing here, really? What’s the point of all this? Somehow, we’ve shoved these questions deep under a dark shadow hidden with fear. We comfort in belief, faith, science, or ignorance, but deep down there’s an unsettled need for more. The increasing polarization of society is an obvious indication that something is missing. It became clear that I ultimately needed to understand Being. Upon relinquishing my attachment to thoughts, the weight of anxiety began lifting. When I abandoned thoughts of inadequacy, a fullness within began growing. When I let concerns of the future drift away, creativity began bursting. When I became present with nature, child-like wonder re-emerged. I was reconnecting with Being. I connected with the place where forgiveness lives. I connected with the place of acceptance, the place where identity is irrelevant. I connected with the place where our pain and trauma can be liberated. Here, the veil of destructive thought can no longer torment. Here is where we learn who we really are. Here is where knowledge becomes knowing. It’s all so clear – something is not missing. Something is in the way.
It’s early evening now. Most of the afternoon showers have dissipated. I’m attached to the Coast Guard vessel, en route to Yorkeys Knob Boating Club. My wild adventure is coming to a close. Already nostalgia is forming. This will no longer be my home, and this will no longer be my life. The Volunteer Coast Guard crew is growing tired after a long day on the water, making for a somewhat clumsy transit. I couldn’t be more grateful. After completion of the customs paperwork, I exit Emerson for the last time. A new chapter begins. I’m greeted by family, friends, a wonderful crowd of people, and news cameras. It’s a haze of questions, hugs, photographs, handshakes, and generous words of support. Champagne flows, and Emerson now proudly displays the Australian flag on her stern. The buzz of excitement and celebration fills the air. I was living in a dream, but knew my next journey had already begun. The night was filled with stories, laughter, and seafaring tales of woe. The excitement fades, the crowds disperse, and our dinner concludes. For the first time, I silently peer over the balcony rail back upon Emerson. There she was, safely tied to the dock, peacefully floating with a gentle knowing that she served well. And a knowing that our time together has come to an end.
We’ve arrived. We’re back to where we’ve been all along – right here. Here I’m going to continue releasing attachment to ideas, thoughts, objects, and belief. Here I’m going to create in service to an ideal. Why did I row across the Pacific Ocean? Because it helped me return to Being. What’s next? I’m starting a business in service to creating personal freedom and meaningful human connection. There is no more seeking, there are no expectations, and there is no end point. I encourage each of you to turn inward and discover what you already know. I encourage you to live in service to an ideal. I encourage you to release the prison of your thinking mind. I encourage you to see yourself in others. Let us all face the challenges ahead with a clear mind, free of identity. Let us accept the pain and trauma we’ve endured, and let us forgive. Something is not missing. It’s right here.
Rise Above
