By David Kilmer
There’s this fetching little Caribbean island called Mopion, way down south in the Grenadines, where the sailors go. It’s tiny, maybe the width of a football field. It looks exactly like a cartoon island, and smack dab at the center is a small, thatched roof with a bottle opener. Picture perfect. Sometimes the island is a little bigger, and sometimes it disappears altogether. It all depends on what the summer storms have wrought.
We always tried to stop at tiny Mopion with our charter guests, because it was such a unique experience. We would wade ashore and picnic there, take family photos, set up marriage proposals or play a game of touch football where each end of the island was the end zone.
After a few visits to Mopion, I began to notice something quite interesting.
It was never the same place twice.
Some days Mopion just seemed too hot, too windy, too sunny, too cloudy. On those days there was no romance there. It was just an irksome lump, hard to anchor near and surrounded by coral that cut our feet. Other days, that little pile of sand was a splendidly enchanted isle, the best place we’d ever seen in our lives.
I came to realize that it all depended on us; that the island of Mopion, and in fact every place we sailed to, was exactly what we made it.
If we showed up grateful, it was great.
If we showed up mad, or sad or indifferent, it was miserable.
In Costa Rica, Rebecca and I paddled kayaks through this tropical lagoon straight out of National Geographic, with exotic birds, monkeys and waterfalls. A true paradise. And then above the bird songs we heard something harsh. Ugly words. Breaking glass. A man and a woman yelling at the top of their lungs, calling each other names.
Paradise lost!
And then as we paddled by, we saw the poignantly ironic name on the back of their very posh and shiny yacht: TRANQUILO.
I can assure you there was nothing tranquil about that boat that day.
As humans we stubbornly believe in the grand illusion of better. If only we can just get away and sail over the horizon, things will be perfect there.
But it’s a mirage. It recedes as you advance. Chase that, and you become an unfortunate member of the treasure-obsessed, expending life and health and time only to find in the end you have always been chasing fool’s gold.
As sailors, we know it only happens if you decide to build a great life along the way.
Paradise is precisely what we make it.
What we really need is a good journey, not the perfect destination.
A certain state of mind. As Robert Pirsig says, “The only Zen you find on tops of mountains is the Zen you bring up there.”
So here’s the task at hand, my friends. To make every place a good place to be. And make every day a good day to be there.
How do you do that? Show up with an attitude of gratitude.
Don’t bring your past regrets to innocent little Mopion.
Don’t bring your future worries.
Don’t bring your hurries, either. Show up on boat time, on wow time . . . And I promise it will be that paradise you’ve always dreamed of.
Excerpted from David Kilmer’s new book, The Way of the Sailor, available now on Amazon. His collection of seagoing meditations and cruising adventures explores what it truly means to be a sailor — and ultimately, how to better navigate life itself. More at wayofthesailor.com.
