I’m absolutely clueless (and trying to be OK with it)

Creating a life that’s rich with learning, unlearning and evolution (aka aliveness) also requires you to lay down your need to have it all figured out or fit into a prescribed box…you are in uncharted territory without a map, making it up as you go, one brave step at a time. This is where the good stuff happens….you’re a badass for even being in the room.

- Adapted from: The Art of Aliveness by Flora Bowley  

There is so much in Flora’s words above that I hate.

I want to be able to say it’s all untrue.

I want to give her ideas the middle finger and an incredibly massive F-You. 

But I also know that I’m literally living this out in real time. And unfortunately for this perfectionist-planner-who wants-to-always-have-it-all-figured-out, I’m realizing… it’s all actually true. 

Dammit. 

Ever since I left in June on my own European journey, I’ve felt nothing but uncertainty. When others have commented on me “living my best life,” I’ve winced. 

Do they realize I have no idea what the hell I’m doing? 

Even in a simple conversation, I can’t answer these most basic questions: 

• How long will you stay?

• Where will you stay?

• When will you finish your book? 

And then there are my own questions that rile me up, like the one I’m currently wrestling with:

• Can I actually communicate the transformation I’ve experienced in a way that’s at all interesting to people in the travel memoir I’m writing? 

Today I’m pretty convinced that’s an impossible task. 

So as I was thumbing through my journal today, looking for inspiration and slightly panicking about it all, I was reminded of an experience a few weeks ago on Lake Ohrid, Macedonia. Although I’m mostly writing this to process it all or make some meaning for myself, maybe it will be helpful to you as well. 

I love water. I also love wine (well, to be honest, I’m more of a bone-dry gin martini person, but I do like trying new varieties of wines, especially when I travel).

So when I saw a sunset sailing & wine tour advertised, I immediately signed up. I’m traveling on my own, so that also meant I had no idea who I’d be on the boat with. I was hoping I’d not end up on a romantic sunset sail for couples, but I was willing to risk it for my dose of water and some new regional wines paired with local tapas. 

When I arrived at the meeting point, I breathed a sigh of relief.

I’d be sailing with two other women in their 30s: lifelong friends from Belgium, both dressed in bright yellow dresses and absolutely delightful, even if they were a bit too interested in whether or not I’d met Justin Bieber. Our sailing captain was in his 30s as well, and he’d been sailing most of his life. 

As we set out, he asked if anyone had sailing experience. The others stared at him with blank faces. My own sailing experience is quite limited, and I knew my rudimentary knowledge was rusty. But immediately, he delegated the steering to me, motioning me to generally head toward the city lights. 

So there we were, the captain working on getting the sail up all alone as the water became more choppy by the minute. And me, wracking my brain to remember how to actually steer a sailboat on a very windy and wavy lake.

Let’s not forget the wine and tapas.

Homemade snacks in the middle of the boat, and 3 bottles of wine for 3 women.

That seemed like a bad idea on a sailboat, especially when you’re relying on one of those women to steer. 

But we were convinced we could make a go of it.

One of the women wrangled the glasses out of a box. I tried to open the tapas without spilling them everywhere. And as soon as we found the bottle opener, we all had to switch sides as we jibed and tacked (my sailing knowledge is basic, so I have no idea which is which:)) our way around the lake. 

We’d pour a glass. Drink maybe 1/2 of it. And then have to figure out how to switch sides again—this time with half-full wine glasses in hand. I’m still surprised none of us fell overboard or that someone wasn’t smacked by the sail switching sides.  

BUT…the sunset was beautiful and the weather was amazing. The only problem was that we couldn’t figure out how to both sail and drink-slash-eat.

So we decided to save the rest of the wine for the shore, asking the captain if he’d like to share the tapas and wine with us once we embarked. 

As the sun went down, we found a nearby picnic table, opened the remaining bottles of Alexandria Rosé Cuvee and Monastery Winery’s Vranac, pulled out the homemade jars of spicy ajvar, pepper and onion jam, various cheeses, pears, plums, crackers, prosciutto and other dried meats. We then spent the next 3 hours drinking, eating, smoking cigarettes (as one does in this part of Europe) and talking about life in Macedonia, Belgium and America. I even learned how to make port rakija by caramelizing sugar and adding rakija (a fruit brandy common in the Balkans & a favorite drink for the cold winter months).

In every way, this evening was totally unexpected. But it was also beautiful. 

Maybe I’m forcing comparisons a bit, but this memory reminds me that I sometimes have to be willing to step into the unknown to experience the beautiful.

I might have ended up on a boat full of lovebirds during sunset, but I didn’t.

I barely remembered how to steer a sailboat, but I figured it out.

None of us had ever tried to navigate wine glasses with waves while also trying to take pictures with our iPhones, but we successfully avoided any of those things going overboard. 

So today I’m wondering what might happen…

If I’m willing to give up my comfort in knowing what’s next.

If I’m willing to lay down my need to have it all figured out.

If I can just embrace the idea that I’m in uncharted waters, and yes, I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. Yes, I am making it up as I go. And yes, I often feel there really should be an actual adult somewhere besides me giving directions. But I’m also moving forward, one brave step at a time, even if half of those steps are scary as hell. 

I’m trying to make space for new things to take root and for learning and unlearning and figuring out my own unique recipe of what it means to be alive in this world.

I’m trying to embrace Flora’s idea that maybe, just maybe, this is actually where the good stuff happens.

And maybe she’s also right in that I’m a badass for even being in the room (or on that boat).