I'm writing this in gale force winds. The boat is jiggling me around like some kind of crazed salt shaker.
Yesterday a friend of mine wrote an email telling me that her life in New York is pretty boring. She works, sleeps, occasionally goes to a cool place like BAMCafe. At the end of my time in the city I felt stagnant and bored, too, no matter how many things I crammed into my schedule. There was a persistent malaise. I guess that's why I gave up my steady job, my loft, my whole world, really, to go sailing. I wanted to see the non-American parts of the world and come out a much more fascinating person. I haven't been fascinating for a long time. Granted, most people I know opted for adventure right out of college, so I could just be having a mid-life crisis. 1/3-life crisis. I don't know how to communicate all this to my friend, who has a much more responsible and well-paying job than the one I left. But her routine is her prison. If I say that to her, I sound judgmental. At a loss, I advised her to read forksplit.com, my new favorite blog.