Indolent

I was named Indolent for a reason, most parents want you to win, succeed, and take life by the balls. Not mine. They wanted me to comply, not exert much energy and certainly not find my way back home. They named me not as a noun but as an adjective. Bob said, "We didn't want to think of you as a person we needed to give you a name, so Indolent was our wish."

They pushed me and my boat off the dock. I drifted around in the gray for a very long time.

The sky and the sea are exactly the same color gray and it meshes together all the way to the horizon. They say the horizon is an illusion that the curve of the earth makes an imaginary line; it’s only about twelve miles away when the earth's curve makes you view the horizon. It seems farther away than it looks, it seems like forever. That's the mystery of the horizon its imaginary, never defined, a deception. Every time I move forward the line is the exactly same distance away.

Sometimes it is easier not to exert energy, accept the name I was given.
Or maybe not!

THE ADVENTURES OF INDOLENT!

Some people may want a story of revenge or one of redemption; I prefer to make this a story of perseverance.

My boat is fast and strong. The sky is bright blue, the sea state confused with a heavy following sea. The wind is filling the large white spinnaker from behind and pushing the boat along. The boat is lifting up and growling, banging down the face of the waves. Hang on! I stand behind the rudder to keep it in the water and control the boat! The rudder is the only part of the boat still in the water.

Go Indie!

My stomach is in a knot. Go too far into the wind I will round up into the wind, the deck will look like a bomb went off; gear everywhere. Go too far down wind, I slow down. Hang on; my hands are burning while gripping the spinnaker sheets. Steer down away from the wind and take the pressure off, steer up into the wind and make more speed. Trim, trim I yell in my head; pull the sheets in and let the sheets out.

I keep the boat and sails at the correct angle to the wind and I fly down the face of the waves. Can you hear it? The boat is in sync with the waves. You know it when the boat moves with the sea. The bow wave is so big it moves all the way to the stern. Ocean and boat come together. I use the rhythm of the wind and the sea as my guide. Keep going, move the tiller to steer up and down, trim the sails in and out bending with the wind. The wind is never straight its fluid.

I'm going so fast I think I can get further than they ever believed.