Maddie is out of the office

A blog I wrote some weeks ago, just never posted – with all the life plan changes and drama of moving! I hope you enjoy this musing, which may be my last boaty/sailing lady one for a little while….

Fitness on a boat is a strange thing, especially on a passage.

You sit down a lot of the time. Or you alternate helming with lying down and trying to sleep, and not ending up in a locker. There’s not a lot of walking, and there’s absolutely no running! Plus the food is generally high carb, and snacks are routine. So, keeping to any kind of exercise and diet regime is almost impossible.

But you get strong.

You don’t build the obvious muscles, the thigh gap, or the physique the internet photographs for Instagram – partly because the tanlines are going to be extremely questionable.

“Sexy” sports bra, sock and glove tanlines, anyone?

So, it’s an interesting mix as far as a place to be body wise; you can’t diet, you can’t exercise, and yet your body is proving itself every day. As an experienced woman, a female Yachtmaster, I know we are as good or better than a lot of men.

A six foot tall man cannot pull a line through; you dash to the mast and take it in one hand. The furling line needs to be sweated; no one else will ever opt for that job, so you do it every day. A sheet won’t winch; you stand astride and it’s a done deal in ten seconds.

In a lot of ways I know I am weak. I cannot beat anyone at an arm wrestle. I definitely cannot climb a rope or lift my own bodyweight. I have never run a marathon, scaled a mountain or rowed an ocean.

But there is so much I can do. Offshore. At night. Alone on watch. In hectic weather. In unpredictability.

Sailing has taught me that I am strong.

This is it, leaving Lanzarote time! And, as is the normal for me when migrating between islands, I have my silk flowers as my hand luggage.

Adios Lanzarote life, wow I am a pickle of nerves and excitement, fear and hope. Whilst I’m going back to so much I know, it’s also stepping into a lot which is new, which will be different, which will challenge me in ways I can’t possibly expect.

A fact I know about myself; I hate change, I have an instinctive need for consistency.

Why do I work in project management, forcing change on people who are fundamentally happy with the status quo? Why have I given three years of my life to learn a career which is entirely premised on the fact you will never be able to form a solid plan?

To challenge myself, to take a leap, to see I can break out of my box has been quite wonderful and overwhelming, whilst also terrifying. I don’t remember crying quite so much. I may have mentioned this before, but I definitely have never phoned my mother quite as often in my life as I have since I started this adventure in 2016.

Going back to timelines, plans, spreadsheets, deadlines, absolutely no dependence on the weather (except snow, because neither the UK nor Chicago can function on their respective extremes of snow), is really calming. I think it will restore some sanity and gravity to my life which you invariably lose when living day to day, week to week. When you have to form friends and allies in a matter of moments or hours, when experiences are both life changing and fleeting.

I shall commit to plans, book holidays, look forward, save for my future. Work hard to encourage others to embrace the change that will help our company grow, and help them to do so. Whilst finding a new little place in my old world to call my own again.

I’ve changed enough, I’m ready to stand still for a little while.

In no particular order, these are the lists I made when I was stuck in my dilemma of what now, what next, what’s best.

Of course, that decision is now made! But I thought I would still share, for those of you enjoying this experience vicariously, or those who wonder whether the grass would truly be greener if they made the leap they have been pondering.

Things I love:

– Sunshine
– Whole weeks off
– Long walks along the promenade
– Space (no crowds, no busy tubes!)
– Amazing skies
– Cost of life
– Affordability of eating and drinking out
– The comfort and ease of island life
– Lie ins
– Sitting by the sea with a book
– Living in casual clothes and flat shoes
– A non-judgemental / non-materialistic world

Things I miss:

– Boots
– Holland and Barrett
– Oysters
– Really good sheeps cheese and soya yoghurt
– Edamame beans
– A not restricted selection of vegetables
– Scented candles
– Impromptu plans with friends or family
– Attending birthdays and BBQs
– Being able to consider flying to New Zealand or the US to see friends
– The gym
– A sensible postal service and next day Amazon delivery
– Having a car
– The NHS
– Not being allergic to the soap
– The anonymity of a city
– Occasionally spoiling myself (waxing, nails etc)
– Being there for my friends when they need me
– Understanding the system
– Speaking the language
– Life in one currency
– Owning my own flat
– Job security
– All the wonderful stuff I have in storage
– Running without being scared an injury could cost me my job.

Definition: Courage in pain or adversity.

Recently I failed.

I started a new job, with a different sailing school, and it didn’t go well. Really quite badly in fact.

Others disagree, they told me I stepped up when things were tough, but what I felt was that I let people down. Positive feedback aside, what I walked away with was the feeling that I made no-one proud.

When so many people have invested their time in you; when your parents, who you never expected to back you in such an endeavour, have been there every step of the way; when you have yourself made it public that you are taking a leap… it is more terrifying than ever to accept you might have failed to make it.

The dread of disappointing others is something which has been bred into me since I was small. I never really feared a telling off, especially since my parents and housemasters were of the calm-and-quiet when angry genre, thus a solemn and quietly spoken “disappointed in you” is enough to reduce me to tears.

Mid March, my birthday week no less, I felt I’d failed everyone, and wanted to hide, to stay quiet, alone, contemplate changing my name and moving to a new country where no one knew anything about me. But that’s hard to do when you have an elderly cat which you’re terrified to put on a plane again.

And the school were great, they offered me a second chance at showing them my very best.

So, I gave it another go. I laughed off all the jokes at my expense, and I tried again. I said to myself and others that I needed to give it more time, that the odds were in my favour for a good week, it was a second chance at a new start. But with the caveat that if it didn’t go well then a rethink would be required.

Again it did not go well.

Someone got hurt. It broke my heart.

I had a real think, weighed up the pros and cons of this life here. I will share those with you another day, but for now just say that in order to step up I took a step back, had a look at everything I have achieved and what I want to do next. Where I would be happiest; how and where I can bring the most joy to others in my life.

And the answer to that is back in the City.

I am sure there are times when we all wonder whether what we have achieved is enough or whether we are wasting this precious life. So, rather than simply doubting myself, I stopped to make a list – I do love a list – of the things I have achieved.

It proved to be quite an eclectic collection of moments from the last twenty years, some things pretty huge and some very tiny, but all are mine to hold dear, reasons to hold my head up even if I am doubting myself, feeling small, shy, introverted, scared about the future, or sad about my past.

I found it refreshing, and was surprised by how many things I could think of almost immediately. I encourage you all to do your own. It is easy to big up your friends and loved ones; it is much harder to be proud of yourself. So, here it is.

I have:

– Posed for a naked charity calender
– Starred in a music video
– Saved someone’s life
– Sailed over 5,000 miles
– In two years out of the City got eleven new qualifications
– Been a key participant in a multi trillion dollar market
– Bought my first property at age 23
– Been head hunted twice before the age of 35
– Been part of a six man team which won a national competition (including an assault course and shooting) as the only girl who has, still to this day, competed
– Run a 5km race in 23 minutes
– A touch typing speed of 69 words per minute and 99.9% accuracy
– Won two internships; one government sponsored, the other in New York
– Moved twice to islands in the Atlantic on my own
– Been informed more than once that I am a superior taster by sommeliers
– Read at least 2,000 books, some up to fourteen times
– Lived, loved, explored, travelled, made mistakes, no debts, only a few regrets, determination, courage.

One of the questions I often get asked is how safe it is out here. And, whilst some might raise their eyebrows at this, I always say very safe.

The taxis are all official, the streets are very well lit, there is an obvious police presence, there are barely any homeless people; the ones here are known and looked after by locals and restaurants. The reason for the raised brows? Yes, I have been burgled three times since moving to the Canaries in 2016.

As I understand it, however, the frequency of burglaries doesn’t actually make it an unsafe place; the propensity to burgle doesn’t mean that person wants to do you personally any harm. Indeed, as it has been explained to me, the police have a tiered punishment system, so whilst a “simple” burglary gets a rap on the knuckles, something intended to, or which accidentally, puts another in harms’ way is clamped down on extremely harshly.

I think people ask because they know I’m here alone, that I barely speak the language, because we automatically get nervous when things are different to what we are familiar with, and we are programmed to worry that the system won’t protect us. But in all honesty, it feels safer out here than in Central London, and that’s not just because I’m surrounded by people in the holiday spirit, tossing their cares aside as they step off the plane. Whilst that may be slightly true, and perhaps does make it easier for the unscrupulous types who are inclined to test a patio door when they can see a laptop on a dining table….

But bad things can happen everywhere; I was horribly mugged in Portugal, and our house in Bristol was burgled when one of my housemates was in the bath.

After I was burgled in Tenerife the very nice (and handsome!) English-speaking policeman at the station up in the hills told me that if I was ever scared by someone approaching me on the street, or encountered someone in my home, to scream, and the threat would run away because they will not be violent. And I carry that advice, safe in the knowledge the only weapon I need to defend myself is my voice.

Since I’ve given so much away to charity and been burgled three times, my possessions and my precious items have been whittled down. Therefore, so long as the lady cats and I are safe, it’s all that matters.

“One in five of the UK population are so poor at reading and writing they struggle to read a medicine label or use a chequebook.”

I discovered this fact recently when doing a course which means I can examine others in a written exam, yet – if the candidate cannot read or write – it can also be taken verbally. We, perhaps naively, looked surprised at the instructor who said this that it was necessary, until he confirmed that yes, we will routinely have candidates who cannot read.

As I am given to I understand it, people who cannot read have adapted to recite and learn from repetition, to equip themselves, and therefore will put themselves forward for a written exam knowing they could not pass without assistance.

So, I will certainly do my best to accommodate as and when the situation arises.

However, I cannot but help to think forlornly of a world where I never read a novel, a book which wasn’t a required text, just for the joy of reading.

Where I who didn’t read all I could get my hands on of groups of five or seven children on adventures, of magic trees with washer women, of gnomes and elves and hobbits and wizards. Of kings, queens, magic buckles, rings, swords and castles. Of other worlds, futures, and incredible histories. Of wars, battles, rivalries and suffering. Of epic and harrowing adventures across foreign lands and our own. Of lives lived well, or those with pain and sadness, or the hope of happiness, forgiveness or retribution. Diaries written by those who never knew someone would share their deepest thoughts, and desperate ones who hoped that someone would.

I grew up with books, and there is one in particular which I literally, no pun, credit with teaching me all I know about what friendship should be, and I carry it forward as much as I can every day.

Words are an inspiration, reading about a world outside your own can change your entire perspective on life, sometimes especially the books you are prompted or persuaded to read which you were never inclined to of your own volition. And, in my world, sometimes turn straight back to the first page and start over again.

What I learned from this fact, this sad but true; I am so lucky that I can pick up a book – or maybe even day write my own – and read it.

But it isn’t a purely introvert pleasure; there are books that people tap you on the shoulder to ask about when they see a copy in your hand, or give a quiet smile and nod when they see you reading on the tube, then there are those that you absolutely cannot help but share and delight in the experience.

I am most oftentimes with a book. It may be one I love, it may not, but I’ll have an opinion, and I’ll always have a recommendation if you need one!

Did you know that cats exclusively meow to communicate and converse with humans?

They have tiny mews as kittens but, independent of humans, in the wild, adult cats have no meow. They may roar in anger, scream in pain, or chitter to themself in glee at prey, but they don’t speak to one another. In essence, they have no voice.

We talk to them, and they talk to us. They mimic our ability to use our voice, and because we don’t use scent or body language to the same extent, they find their voices. And that ability we have, to speak, and to speak up is so wonderful.

We can voice our thoughts, share our dreams, teach others from our own experiences.

We can also use our words against others, to hurt and bully, mock and scare. These traits are not uniquely human, but the words we use are.

The power of words, voices, is so immense.

So please let’s use them to empower, to encourage and praise. Use our voices for good, ensure the voices we leave in other people’s heads aren’t cutting them down or criticising.

Of course we should also use our voices to ask for help. To admit our mistakes. And listen to the voices of others, not just the words; let’s pay more attention to the tone, the body language and the words unspoken.

No-one should be afraid to speak up.

Everyone’s voice is important.

Definition: Mutual trust and friendship among people who spend a lot of time together.

We hold strangers’ hair back as they are sea sick.

We allow strangers to hold our life jackets as we stand precariously on the highest surface to tie on the preventer (to stop the boom flying across the cockpit and knocking someone on the head).

We rely on strangers to keep the bow into the wind as we stand on one foot on a step up the mast reefing (reducing) the main sail.

We hope that these people are reliable and know what they are doing, but as an instructor you naturally have novices on board, and as such it’s a question of evaluating the strengths of those around, and using them to the best interest of all. Unfortunately, as the most experienced, you are the one who has to take the riskiest position, and from there teach, inform, assist, and make sure not to scare.

When you have experienced people on board it’s a different matter entirely, and I have been lucky enough to sail with very experienced sailors many times. Then it’s all about working together. Everyone recognises who the most experienced is on board, and unless it’s a sinking situation, quite frequently the less experienced will volunteer to take the worst of the jobs. There’s preservation in mind.

But when the worst happens, all the jobs are bad. And everyone complains, wishes they could sub out, in their head. In my experience no-one does, aside from in a sarcastic, expletive-ridden manner, before doing whatever it was they didn’t want to do. You buck up. You go to the mast whatever the weather. You don’t sleep. You eat an apple or a baguette if someone throws one at you after you’ve been at the helm for five and a half hours.

You’re grimy, you’re salty, you’re hoping it doesn’t rain on top of everything else, but you’re part of a team and when there’s only a handful of you on board, simply being the person who is asked to hold the back of someone else’s life jacket is a huge responsibility.

And from that trust grows a certain type of friendship.

A bond forged quickly and firmly, and cemented over an after-parking drink, no matter what time you park, because you’ve experienced something together, made memories which may stand alone, but from an experience where you were not.