I’m not ready to set sail.
Sweaty palms, encumbered breaths and nervous gazes abound on the deck on this ship. I can see that clearly now, and not just because the Sun is rising. Everybody is looking to me to guide us safely to our destination, and so they should. That responsibility falls on me. I alone chose to bear it, for reasons which are presently escaping me. I just wish I had the luxury of openly wearing my fears on my sleeves. It’s not as though I’m any more capable of telling the future than they are.
Our course isn’t clear, though the skies and seas are, and these conditions will doubtless cease to persist given enough time. Each change in the wind is chilling my skin and sending my teeth chattering, and it’s not that the breeze is particularly cold. I’m moving about but not accomplishing much of anything, as my eyes are firmly glued on the horizon, searching for the slightest change in the water. Any excuse would be welcome, for the ship isn’t even listing, and I still feel the overwhelming urge to expunge my stomach.
If only I knew more. I could embark on this journey with the knowledge that everything will be fine. That this ship will weather whatever storms should come our way. That the place we’re going to even exists. That we’ll get back home safe. Knowing such things would be wonderful. Unfortunately, I don’t.
I’m more familiar with this ship than my own house, but how much good will that do me when what awaits us out there in those strange and perilous seas is a complete mystery? Storms will almost certainly come, but I don’t know when, nor how strong they’ll be. Safe harbour will be difficult to come by what with the very real possibility that nothing awaits us on the other side of this ocean besides death. I can’t even be certain that my crew will make it there and back with their minds intact. This endeavour is wrought with uncertainty and sure to entail the surmounting of challenges never faced by mortal men.
I could always turn back if things became too difficult. There’s no shame in that. I can’t be expected to die for this. Sure, I may become the subject of scorn and ridicule, but I can better cope with mockery than water in my lungs. Why do I even feel compelled to do this when I have no idea what I’m doing? What’s wrong with me? Surely there’s enough to satiate me here. These lands have been plenty bountiful for as long as I’ve walked upon them.
What’s all this for anyway? I’ve been telling myself that all this is to be done in the pursuit of knowledge, but that can’t be it. Surely that’s not the reason. There must be something else informing my decisions. Is this greed? Am I simply seeking the approval of others? Or am I trying to emulate my betters? That sounds like something a fraud would do, and I am a fraud. I’m not my heroes. They were better than I could ever be. They ventured into the unknown with the fortitude of the gods. I have no such strength.
I feel like I’ve told myself these things before. In fact, I’m confident I’ve said such things of myself in the past, often when I was about to do something new and daring. Often when failure was a real possibility. I’ve failed before though, spectacularly on occasion, and now I seldom make the same mistakes. Some of my greatest accomplishments stem from those missteps. When I was a child, I struggled to tie a knot. Now I’m in command of a vessel.
Why am I doing this?
Others have told me why they think I’m doing this, but they aren’t me. They don’t know what I’m thinking, and they certainly don’t control me. My reasons for doing this may not have always been noble. Perhaps there was a time when I sought to embark on this journey simply to attain accolades or the favour of others, but I could change all that right now. I could choose another reason to steer this ship into the unknown, one which relies not on my success but simply my willingness to try, as I always have. Maybe that’s enough to see me through to this journey’s end.
Should I become lost, the stars will always serve as my guide. If the sky is to ever become concealed by clouds, and if ferocious winds stir up waves to pummel my galleon, I can always choose to stare through the rain, look ahead, and do my best to get there. The destination I have in mind may not be where I arrive. That’s not up for me to decide, but at the very least, I can propel myself onward for as long as my heart pumps blood. That’s my decision alone.
I don’t know everything, but it’s not in my power to know everything, and if it were, there wouldn’t be much of a point to all this. What is my purpose if not to endeavour to know that which I don’t, but might?
How else could I fulfill my purpose other than by setting sail?