Family rules

Before I left for this voyage, the family gave me a short list of rules. “Guidelines,” they called them. I called them “terms and conditions,” though apparently I did not get to negotiate.

The first was simple: stay safe. This came with the sailor’s mantra, “always have one hand free,” meaning never carry a load with both hands in case you need to grab a handhold. I decided to improve on this. Why settle for one free hand when you can have two? Since coming on board, I carry everything I might need — a thermos, a teacup, my Remarkable, a fleece jacket — in a small backpack. Going up and down ladders, climbing stairs, crossing the deck, both hands are free to hold on for dear life.

In the early days, the crew were curious. What was in the backpack? Why was I carrying it everywhere? I suspect a few thought it might be an emergency escape kit or a life vest for quick getaways. Once I explained my rule, they looked relieved, possibly because they no longer had to wonder if I was expecting disaster at any moment.

This “two hands free” rule stays in place all day long. In all my comings and goings, I make sure to leave spaces exactly as I found them. Even if I am just stepping away from the bridge for lunch or going to the washroom, I take everything with me. It is part of the ship’s culture: keep your footprint small, make room for others.

The second rule was aimed squarely at me, though delivered politely: try not to work so much. I tend to wake early and keep going until late, something I have done for years. So here I have limited myself to four or five hours a day of “real” work, which for me means podcasts, the website, and writing. Four or five hours of work may sound like a lot to some, but for me, it is half my usual load, which feels almost indulgent.

The rest is spent walking the deck, eating, and what I like to call “intentional living,” which mostly means looking out to sea, going up to the bridge, and watching the clouds drift over the horizon.

The third rule, which I never agreed to but somehow ended up with, came from my daughter. I had planned a seven-week break from all direct communication with friends and family, thinking I would update them indirectly through blog posts and podcasts. She rejected that plan outright. The compromise is a short, daily “family reflection” of three or four minutes. In these, I am allowed to whine a little, share the jokes that occur to me, and pass on anything surprising or delightful from the day.

So that is the list: keep myself safe, don’t work too much, and keep in touch. Everything else is optional. Though between you and me, “optional” is a concept the sea does not always respect.