As my father always said,
“How have you not sunk that boat yet?”
–Adventure, humor, and pro tips to live your cruising dreams.
Blog
–Adventure, humor, and pro tips to live your cruising dreams.
By 12,000 feet, the advertised headache arrives like a bullet train inside the tunnel of my brain. My face is squashed against the window’s ventilation crack, taking in fresh air that's just as thin.
I’ve slowed enough to feel rooted in present. I’m so zen I barely notice I’ve been listening to the same Bon Jovi cassette for four hours.
Should I attribute that to Kambô?
The frog, she says, will enter and scan the body, zero in on toxins, seek and destroy pockets of them. Its entry route involves removing a top layer of skin by means of pencil tip-sized burns, then applying the secretions.
Evacuation, it turns out, is more complicated than buying a ticket and calling a taxi.
Barb was my badass first mate, the person who made me a better captain.
There must be better ways to make friends than to sob for three weeks, then get sick enough to need medical help.
What if we don’t get back at all? I’m too depressed to think about it, much less plan. Climbing the stairs is too much planning. Everything is too much.
It doesn’t take much to change a life.