The Long Way Around [#36]

There’s much to be said for blazing your own trail, forging your own path. The reward for seeking adventure and opportunity where others don’t (or won’t) is often pretty freaking spectacular.

It’s rarely crowded along the bushwhacked track and that feeling of accomplishment when arriving at a faraway place after a self-made journey feels a whole lot like this:

John and I admit to being a little bit addicted to this approach to life.

Choosing the “ordinary” option — especially as it relates to travel — always stings just enough that we ardently try to avoid it where and whenever possible.

East from The Bahamas is the popular route? We'll go west.

COVID might shut down the world? We'll push on to Panama.

Others are delaying a year before crossing the Pacific? We're still going "on time."

For a hot 20-month minute, we were on a fine little roll —

unfazed by the paths of others, undeterred by popular COVID detours. I mean, once you’ve managed to make it into the maze made of milkshakes, surely your reward is a straight and fat straw to guide you to the end, right?

Ya -- not so much. That one's definitely gonna be a hard No from The Universe.

Slow down, Tiger — Ain’t no straws here. Even the sweetest, slurpiest path is served with a pile of forks and a good-luck-with-that pat on the back.

So noted.

But it really was all so good.

And, it was set to remain that way: a buddy boat to cross an ocean and explore the South Pacific with; a season ahead of the masses of let’s-delay-a-year boats; and an in-tact circumnavigation “schedule.”

Oh, the beauty of a well-made plan (and self-righteous path picking).

It was totally staying beautiful, too — right up until Crossing the Pacific During a Pandemic finally foiled us… Dammit.

Almost embarrassingly, our grand sailing scheme has, until now, been largely unaffected by COVID.

Sure, we’ve seen lockdowns and restrictions; we’ve had to bypass islands and cruising grounds we’d hoped to explore; we’ve certainly endured the painful absence of visits to and from family and friends. That said, our timetable and general itinerary has managed to stay overwhelmingly whole.

But as our young friend, David from Bluefields, taught us to embrace — and laugh about nearly every day since:

cambio de planes.

As much as we try to espouse a come-what-may attitude, this particular change of plans feels a bit like stepping on a Lego — at first both excruciating and swear-word-inducing, yet ultimately quite survivable.

The great agony is not so much the literal pain of the impaled-in-foot-flesh Lego (or the shock of our cambio de planes), but more the disappointment of knowing it could’ve been avoided.

If only I'd watched where I was going, I'd have seen the tiny plastic terror lying in wait and undoubtedly just walked around it. 

If only we'd had the foresight to seriously ponder this potential fork in the road, actually arriving at it might've seemed less debilitating. 

Excruciating…yet survivable.

Enter the musings of the great Maya Angelou:

Oh, Maya. So smart about all the things.

I think of myself as someone who doesn't step on Legos because I think of myself as someone who watches where I step. 

I think of myself as someone who doesn't doesn't let a few COVID border closures shake her from her course or her calendar.

I think of myself as someone who creates her own destiny, writes her own story, takes the road less traveled. 

I think of myself as an adventurer, an explorer, a maker of memories.

I’ve never pictured Maya Angelou as an eye-roller, but I’m quite certain she’s rolling her eyes at me right about now.

And, while I’m confident she has a more eloquent way of saying it, I think the gist of what she’s whisper-shouting my direction is:

“Good grief, Molly — get over yourself.”

I'm trying, Ms. Angelou. I'm really trying. 

So, now I’m remembering there’s a reason popular gets to become popular — lots of people like it.

In the spirit of overcoming how I think about myself (and worshiping the wisdom of Maya Angelou), I’m committed to being okay (at least for a spell) with embracing something even though it’s popular. After all, it’s not like we’ve plotted an unpopular course to sail around the world. (Our path from Panama is literally the most popular way to attempt a westward circumnavigation.)

And, at the end of the day, the goal of circumnavigating, in and of itself, isn’t all that unique an endeavor.

Apparently, I don't shy away from popular as often as I think I do.

So what exactly does the popular option look like for COVID-stalled would-be world cruisers currently in Panama?

It looks like heading to the Sea of Cortez with everyone else. 

For us, it also looks like finding a creative solution to keeping our Ruby Vi/Atticus Dream Team alive. And, it looks (potentially) like adding an extra year to our circumnavigation calendar.

Everything could change tomorrow. And everything could change again after that. Boat Life is a big fan of keeping us dancing awkwardly off beat…

Recently, amidst all the recent chaos of decisions and cambio de planes and brainstorming and re-calendaring, our friend, Jordan, casually noted that sailing around the world is really only as cool as we think it is.

He must've been chatting with Ms. Angelou. 

But he’s right, and his words served as a solid enough reminder for us to revisit the goals we committed to at the start of all this:

Explore. Experience. Educate.

Get There Faster was never on our list.

Currently, most of the South Pacific is still off limits to us. We could make the crossing anyway and prepare to race through the 9,000 miles that separate Panama from Southeast Asia. But why? And to where?

If there’s even a chance to do this right, we decided we should try.

As of today, we’ll still be heading through the Panama Canal before the end of the year. But then, instead of a January push to the Galapagos and a March crossing to the Marquesas, we expect to be bashing our way up the west coast of Central America to Mexico and into the Sea of Cortez.

In a dream-detour scenario, we’ll spend the year ahead swimming with whale sharks and slaying our Spanish lessons;

we’ll eat our body weight in fish tacos and drink margaritas like it’s our spiritual calling.

Best of all, we’ll finally see our people — our friends and family kept a world away by lousy COVID.

It’s safe to assume I’ll always be someone who wonders what kind of milkshakes I missed out on along those paths I rushed past — along the routes I didn’t have time to travel.

(Retrospective Milkshake FOMO is a persistent beast.) 

But, if Sailboat Magic has any say in the matter, maybe this 12-month 2,200-mile detour will give us a sweet taste of what it’s like to try more milkshakes — to travel more roads instead of having to choose just one.

Maybe, if we can just get over ourselves, we’ll remember how much fun it is to travel with the team, how much value there is in knowing how (and when) to swim with the school.

Maybe, when we’re sipping añejos with our favorite humans while flying manta rays dance across the water under a pink La Paz sunset, we’ll forget FOMO was an affliction we once suffered from; we’ll wonder why we ever thought straws were a good idea — why “get there faster” was a pace worth even considering.

Maybe sometimes, arriving at a fork in the road is less about deciding which path to choose and more about deciding which path to choose first.

Maybe this fork in our road is simply an opportunity to enjoy a longer walk (and a few more milkshakes).