You have to be careful what you wish for in this world. This saying is well known and yet we continue to wish for things and then suffer when they come true. Maybe the Buddhists are right: all suffering comes from attachment. If this is true, then we must be pretty attached to Moonrise because suddenly we are filled with suffering, fear, and loathing.
The reason is simple: suddenly there is considerable interest in our boat by potential buyers. Moonrise has been on the market for a couple of months now and the good weather is here; weather that inclines people toward being out on the water. All the time Moonrise has been for sale, we’ve been a bit perplexed by how many people have read the website advertisement, checked her out on Craigslist, emailed us how great she looks. Everything but asked to see her in person. We began to think maybe she wouldn’t sell, maybe we were not meant to sell her.
This has given us a false sense of security. We think of ways we could be comfortable on Moonrise while crossing a wild and woolly ocean. Mike continues to do little projects on the boat, as though she isn’t going anywhere. We continue to spend time on the boat whenever possible. In short, we continue to act like boat owners because nothing has told us that we are not. We’ve been in sweet, sweet denial.
Suddenly people are showing an actual interest in seeing the boat. We showed the boat to a nice couple yesterday. It would probably be perfect for them and I know they would care for it lovingly. We show the boat again tomorrow. This mean it’s possible we might actually be boatless for at least part of the summer, or even longer because right now there is nothing on Yachtworld that we like and can afford.
Frankly, this just makes me want to cry. I try to soothe myself by thinking things like ‘we’ll get another boat’, ‘think of all the money you can put into the boat kitty when you don’t pay moorage for awhile’, ‘you cannot buy another boat until Moonrise finds a new home’, etc. Mike tries to comfort me, and himself, by telling me ‘we’ll get another boat, don’t worry’. It does not help. I just want to grab onto the safety lines and hang on. My two year old self wants to stomp my feet and shout, “MY BOAT! Mine mine mine!”. Maybe I can add some jumping up and down, and then throwing myself on the ground kicking and screaming, little fists pounding, to that picture.
Why, oh why do we get so attached to boats? What is this thing in some of us that personifies boats in the same way we do houses? How is it possible to give our hearts to things that are, in the end, objects? Of course we know that we will always have the memories, yadda yadda yadda. Why does that not help in the least?
I’m going to have to practice channeling my inner Buddhist during this process of boat selling. But I’m pretty sure that regardless of how good I get at that, when we sell Moonrise, I’m going to cry like a baby. Note to the universe: please send us buyers who will love this boat with all of their hearts.