Jeff Jay - Navigating Grace: A Solo Voyage of Survival and Redemption

Hazelden Publishing

Center City, Minnesota 55012

hazelden.org/bookstore

2015 by Jeff Jay

All rights reserved. Published 2015.

No part of this publication, either print or electronic, may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the express written permission of the publisher. Failure to comply with these terms may expose you to legal action and damages for copyright infringement.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Jay, Jeff, 1954-

Navigating grace : a solo voyage of survival and redemption / Jeff Jay.

1 online resource.

Description based on print version record and CIP data provided by publisher; resource not viewed

ISBN 978-1-61649-618-0 (epub) ISBN 978-1-61649-616-6 (paperback)

1. Jay, Jeff, 1954Travel. 2. Jay, Jeff, 1954Religion. 3. SailorsUnited StatesBiography. 4. SailingAtlantic Ocean. 5. Redemption. I. Title.

GV810.92.J39

797.1092dc23

[B]

2015027404

Editors note

The names, details, and circumstances may have been changed to protect the privacy of those mentioned in this publication.

Alcoholics Anonymous, AA, and the Big Book are registered trademarks of Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, Inc.

19 18 17 16 15 1 2 3 4 5 6

Cover design: David Spohn

Interior design: Terri Kinne

Interior illustrations: Steven Gamburd

Developmental editor: Sid Farrar

Production editor: Heather Silsbee

Contents

Just go, the young captain told me. It was an offhand remark to him but a benediction to me, a blessing on a decision Id already made. There was no going back, but I wanted an experienced ocean sailor to assure me I wasnt crazy.

We were eating dinner in a quiet restaurant in Detroit, enclosed in a wooden booth that gave us the privacy of a confessional. The padded seats and heavy plates anchored us to the meal, and we engrossed ourselves in sailing talk, sticky barbecue ribs, and baked potatoes.

He was newly back from two years in the Virgin Islands, where hed worked his way up from first mate to skipper of a good-sized yacht. I was getting ready to sail my boat to the same place all alone, so to me he was an expert, and this simple remark had instantly made him an oracle in my eyes. Truth be told, he was the first person to actually endorse my plan. All my friends thought I was nuts.

It was a cheerless night in late October, with the seasons last leaves flying and the wind calling for winter. In the comfort of the booth, I quizzed my new friend about routes and rigging, ostensibly to get his opinions but also to prove I was knowledgeable enough for a 2,500-mile jaunt.

I had a big old boat and very little money to fix the innumerable problems that had driven its price down to rock bottom. But I had a vision of what I wanted to do and where I wanted to go, and Id burned all my bridges behind me. I was determined to remake my life, to begin again with a sailboat as my home and blue water on the horizon. The young captain was polite, but he didnt quite share my enthusiasm.

Perhaps he knew what I didntthat my dreams would fade in the light of day, replaced by the constant demands of an ocean voyage. In fact, it would only be a matter of weeks before Id long for the simple luxuries of central heating, electricity, and running water. But on this night, all those problems lay waiting in an unseen future, like sharks building up an appetite.

The captain turned the conversation to his recent decision to return to Michigan. He talked about the consternation of his native friends in St. Thomas and how theyd tried to talk him out of leaving the Virgin Islands. Grad school was no reason to leave paradise and go back to the cold, they all agreed, sitting around the bar one night. They jeered in disbelief at the captains descriptions of heavy parkas and ice.

No way, mon! they said.

The native islanders had only seen snow in videos, and they laughed and joked in melodic Caribbean voices about wearing boots and gloves. Finally, when the full import of winter struck one of the islanders, he craned his head over his beer and declared: My God, mon, you gonna have to wear socks!

That was the least of it, I thought. The young captains reasons for returning to the States seemed pedestrian for a real sailor. He wanted to get back to his family, earn an MBA, find a good job and a good woman, and all the rest of it. I quickly steered the conversation away from this nonsense. If there were good reasons to abandon paradise, I wasnt ready to hear them.

Id dreamt so long of a place where flip-flops hung loosely on suntanned feet and where time drifted off with the turtles. Id never been to the Caribbean or even the Bahamas, but Id read countless books and magazines, and Id spent hours poring over details and laying my plans. I wanted to live in the calendar photos of pristine islands and quiet anchorages. I wanted to live my life out of a duffel bag on my own boat, skimming across the clear blue water, beyond the ordinary. I believed in miracles and knew Fate smiled on the one who risked everything. The sun would be that smile and the sea my promised land.

But time was running short in the autumn of 1990. The Erie Canal system, which leads from the Great Lakes to the Hudson Riverthe only feasible route to the Atlanticwould soon close for the winter. I was eager to go, but there were still lots of important shipboard jobs to finish. After I made it to salt water, the longest stretches would be offshore, at least 120 to 150 miles offshore, and I wouldnt be able to call for a mechanic.

I peppered the young captain with questions, foolishly proud of my encyclopedic knowledge. He was probably bored, as it was all commonplace to him, but he was enjoying the big dinner and he continued to answer tolerantlythough I felt there was something more on his mind. I was getting carried away with my own enthusiasm and the particulars of getting ready to go, when he stopped me cold to make a point.

Look, he said, you cant get ready.

What? I asked.

Theres no such thing as ready. Boats always have jobs that need doing, and theres no end to it, ever, he said. If you wait until youre ready, youll never go.

He sounded just like me at my day job, talking to alcoholics and addicts as a counselor. Not being ready to change was a common excuse with patients, but it was a smoke screen. I was well acquainted with the myth of being ready, and now I saw my own delays for what they really were: fear.

He took a sip of coffee and continued. Youve got everything you need: a good boat, a little cash, and time. You can fix what breaks along the way.