AUGUST 2011 Life Outside


The Nearest Thing To Dreams By Doug Humphreys


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Cathryn Polonchak, LICSW Jungian Analyst / Diplomate, Inter-Regional Society of Jungian Analysts


“Projections change the world into the replica of one’s own unknown face.” C.G.Jung Harpers Ferry & Shepherdstown, WV 304-876-3022


Eugene O’Neill said, “The sea hates a coward.” I believe that the sea hates everyone, most especially cow- ards. You can earn the respect of the sea, but it will still hate you. If you find yourself aghast at this suggestion, then you’ve never actually been on the sea. When I was eight years old, I


huddled in the bottom of a boat that was being slammed against a rocky coast. I don’t recall how we got there; it doesn’t matter. As Francis Stokes reminds us, “The sea finds out everything you did wrong.” What I remember was the


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wind snapping through the sails creating an endless ma- chine gun blast that was so loud it hurt your entire body and made clear thinking impossible. Then there was the noise of the boat banging against the rocks. The waves would draw us away from the rocks, lift us to the crest, then slam us against the jagged coast. The position of the boat made


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the sails useless. Even if we could have filled them, I don’t think we could have fought our way through the surf with wind alone. Though I was too young to consider such things, I’m sure at some point somebody considered abandoning ship onto shore—but even as a child I knew that jumping to land meant risking life and limb. My father was the captain.


He was responsible for putting us on the rocks; it was his re-


sponsibility to get us off. He knew it. An eight-year-old boy and my father’s inexperienced friend made him a one-man crew. It took him but seconds to


realize there was no sailing out of this situation. Then the in- stincts of a capable sailor set in. He jerked the rigging to raise the centerboard, then crawled across the stern deck to raise the rudder. He slid on the deck wildly, and I held my breath as we slammed the rocks with his head and hands inches from harm’s way. When the rudder was up he


bolted to the bow, lowering the jib and shortening the main sale. Then he did something I couldn’t believe. He grabbed the anchor and stepped up to the bow of the deck. I was fe- tal on the floor of the boat, and his friend slipped and stumbled just trying to keep the tiller straight. I saw no way he could keep his balance on the ex- posed deck as waves crashed over the bow and the boat was beat against the shore. He heaved the anchor away


from shore then pulled against rope. His first throw was long enough to turn the boat into the waves, maybe 20 feet. He pulled until the anchor was retrieved, then threw it again. Then again. He threw it until he could literally throw no longer, his last throw barely clearing the bow. He bolted back the stern,


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lowering the centerboard as he passed it then relieving his friend of the tiller as he thrust the rudder back into the wa- ter. With one jerk on the tiller the sails filled. Then there was silence. This is what Thoreau meant when he wrote, “The sail, the play of its pulse so like our own lives: so thin and yet so full of life, so noiseless when it labors hardest, so noisy and im- patient when least effective.” What Dad did that day is the bravest thing I’ve ever seen. I learned that day what a


man is, and what he does when he must. I learned that the best type of men are sailors. I continued to sail with Dad


after that day. William Shedd was right, “A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.” In fact ships are built for sailing, and men are built to sail. When we returned to the


docks Dad walked with his head high. Sailors understand that when on the sea it’s not a matter of whether something bad will happen, but when. A sailor is not judged because something bad happened, he’s judged on what he does when it happens. On this day, as on most, Dad passed muster and proved Masefield’s theory that, “Men in a ship are always look- ing up, and men ashore are usu- ally looking down.” Next time you find yourself


sitting on the shore feeling drawn to the sea, don’t fight it. Put down your daiquiri, get out of the silly short chair you are sitting in, and fill your sails. As Twain encourages, “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor.” If you do you’ll understand


why Robert Rose wrote, “Ships are the nearest thing to dreams that hands have ever made.”


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