Welcome to Tough Love. We鈥檙e answering your questions about dating, breakups, and everything in between. Our advice giver is Blair Braverman, dogsled racer and author of and . Have a question of your own? Write to us at toughlove@outsideinc.com.
After my dad died, I heard 鈥淪outhern Cross鈥 by Crosby, Stills, and Nash on the radio, which is about making a big sailing trip after a divorce. And I thought, that鈥檚 what I should do! I feel like in times of grief, it鈥檚 natural to want a big project. And so I bought books about young and inexperienced sailors making solo trips around the world.
I thought I should sail from Portland, Oregon, where I live, to New Zealand, where my dad鈥檚 from. It would be a journey to try to understand someone who鈥檚 not around for me to try to understand anymore.
When I told my friend about my idea, she said, 鈥淚 really support you, but I think you鈥檙e going to die if you do that. Please don鈥檛 die alone on the ocean on a boat.鈥 She may have had a point鈥擨 haven鈥檛 sailed since I took a sailing class in sixth grade, and I didn鈥檛 like it.
Now it鈥檚 been two years. The trip remains an idea and I still have all those books, but I鈥檓 more focused on other parts of my life, like my work and my garden. When I drive over bridges in Portland and see ships on the river, I wish I could be on one of them. Because it鈥檚 easier to think about taking a grand journey than it is to take a sailing class. How do I honor the impulse to do something big even though, when it comes down to it, I don鈥檛 actually want to do it?
It took me a long time to get pregnant, and when I finally did, it didn鈥檛 stick. I told myself: this loss is okay, because I鈥檒l get pregnant right away after this, right? I have to. That鈥檚 how stories work. Things get hard, and they get harder鈥攂ut then there鈥檚 a crack of hope, just when the protagonist needs it most.
But it didn鈥檛 happen. The journey to parenthood felt random and unfair, with brave hopes that didn鈥檛 pan out and sorrows with no resolution. With each setback, I thought: this must be the moment that things turn around.聽Now, I thought. Now comes the happy ending.
But it didn鈥檛 come yet.
Wait鈥攖hat means it must be coming now.
Nope.
I tried stuff. Is this a story about wilderness? OK: I鈥檒l go alone to the woods, plunge into a river, come back cleansed and ready to bring life into the world.
Nope.
Is this a story about God? I鈥檒l pray.
Is this a story about art? I鈥檒l throw myself into work. I鈥檒l write another book.
But none of those stories played out. At least, not in the ways that I planned them. And that made me feel more helpless than ever.
Eventually, I did have a happy ending, or at least a happy middle. But there was no clear, straightforward story I could tell myself that explained the difficulties along the way. By the time the good news came, I was so weary of hope that I didn鈥檛 let myself trust it for a long time.
The process showed me how much I鈥檝e leaned on storytelling in my own life, and how much that instinct can backfire. Stories are, after all, threads of meaning in a chaotic world鈥攁nd if finding them gives us comfort and control, losing them does the opposite.
I tell you this because you sound like a storyteller, too. And it sounds like you鈥檙e looking for a story to tell yourself about grief. A story in which you cross the wild sea and come out the other side healed.
There鈥檚 an easy answer here, which is that you should take a sailing class, or buy a ticket for a boat ride, or rent a kayak for the day. It might be fun. You might hate it, which is OK, too. That said, I don鈥檛 think the sailing class will fix you, because I don鈥檛 think you鈥檙e actually looking for a trip across the sea. I think you鈥檙e looking for a story with an ending that finds you far from where you started.
I鈥檓 hesitant, now, to use stories to predict what鈥檚 next in my life, but there鈥檚 incredible power in identifying them in retrospect. And I think that by writing your letter, you鈥檙e already a good chunk of the way there. You鈥檙e figuring out your story, even though you鈥檙e still home in Portland. You鈥檙e moving forward with it every day. So what鈥檚 the story that feels true to you, now? What鈥檚 the story that helps you live with your grief?
I鈥檒l try writing one for you. If it feels wrong, change it. If it feels right, take it. Use it to launch your ship.
After my dad died, I became obsessed with sailing.
I dreamed of sailing to New Zealand, where he was born.
I wanted answers in the sea.
I looked at the water every time I crossed a bridge.
But instead, I found myself planting vegetables.
Seed by seed.
In my mind, I sailed. I caught the wind.
It rained.
The seeds sprouted.
I think, in a way, I鈥檓 already on the journey.
Not to find home, but to make it.
Not to seek answers, but to grow them.