On Living in Two Worlds OR The Secret Society of Mariners

So I totally meant to be asleep a few hours ago. Now, I know two meaningful posts in one waking day is highly irregular coming from me. But I promised you this one, Reader, and I just read a poem that made me come here and write this. It's out of order, but so what? It's my blog and I'll juggle it if I want to.

It's really hard to be an essentially good guy. Anyone who's ever known a nice guy knows this, as they probably spent some time listening to heated outpourings of under-appreciation. That having been said, it is damn near impossible to be a good person at sea. That's a loaded statement, and I'll explain why. I'll even start at the beginning. Ain't I a sweetheart?

When you think of seafarers, you probably conjure up a salty, grizzled, sour, wrinkly old man with pegs sticking out from various parts of his body. That's okay. A lot of mariners strive to project that persona, sans pegs. But the question to ask is, "Why, Chad? Why do they so strive?" After a few years of extensive, immersed study, I'm afraid my answer is disappointing and discouraging in its simplicity. We do it because that's what we imagine seafarers to be like, too. We drink, we swear, and we tell jokes so off-color they'd make a Crayola box blush. And I'm not talking about the little one that fit in your pencil box. No no. I'm talking about the huge one, the three-million-color one that you always tried (and failed) to keep organized like it started out. The greatest minds of the last generation propelled us - pun intended -out of the days of sail and into a new technological era, one that required finely educated minds to keep these newfangled steamers running. So all these brilliant minds step into a profession famous for its denizens, and what happens? Nothing. The ships steam on, and the crews stay salty.

Now, my fellows are saying, "That's what we're most proud of!" I feel that pride too. I'll never forget the first time someone called me salty. Never. And I'll always recall it fondly. But I also can't shake the looming feeling of my duplicitous lifestyle. And those of you who ship probably do it, too, or have heard this said: "I never drink / dip / cuss when I'm ashore. The old lady would kill me if I did that stuff at home." I can tell you why I undergo this metamorphosis: because it's easier than being at odds with your fellows. There's always this awkward adjustment period when a new guy signs on; everyone's feeling him out, getting an idea of which box they can stuff him in. There are guys who come out and preach the gospel, there are crazies who hear voices, there are loners, and bastards, and whistleblowers, and idiots... and there are Alright Guys. Everyone on the ship wants to be an Alright Guy - a good shipmate, someone who's fun to be around, someone who doesn't stifle the mood during coffee time. It is very difficult to be completely different from the people you are trapped in a floating steel box with, so the obvious, easy and human solution is to be more like them. Facilitate good relations. Be a good shipmate. Be an Alright Guy.

Don't get me wrong, Reader. I'm not shifting responsibility. Every word we say, everything we do to interact, is done by choice. What I'm trying to say here is that I regret my choices to go along and get along. It's hard to convey to others how vital it seems to do your part to make your shipmates happy, and just how miserable a voyage can be when you're all by yourself. I'll say it here, although of course the proof is in the pudding: I'm going to do my level best not to change who I am, or who I want to be, simply because I think it'll make coffee time less awkward. Call it a re-dedication; it's something I've been stewing over for years now.

The really difficult thing is this: I want to be a good person who does the right thing. And yet, I seem to feel this to be the polar opposite of how most mariners want to act. Is this gross pessimism on my part? Surely nobody walks onto a ship and says, "I want to do things that would embarrass people back home." Am I oversimplifying the collective character of mariners everywhere? I guess time will tell as I begin my new experiment: how the crew reacts to someone who doesn't try to fit in all the damn time.

Ah yes, the poem. I doubt it was written to convey the things I've expressed in prose here, but that's certainly how it spoke to me:

This Broken Magic, written by Katherine Bauer
I lie on the edges
Where these two worlds meet
Into both of them I’m bleeding here.
By both of them I’m beat.

Tossed between dominions
Of the water and the sun
I won’t become dry
But as hard as I try
I’ll never reach the deep.

Relentlessly I’m pounded
Where the sea meets the land
This cruelty creates in me
This broken magic

I can’t belong to the world of flood
The world where waters rage
But I can’t seem to find
The right state of mind
To live within the cage.

So here I will forever be
Tossed between the worlds
Broken and useless
Invisible.

Relentlessly I’m pounded
Where the sea meets the land
This cruelty creates in me
This broken magic.

The funny thing about this life
Is how it grows on me
The beating that once felt so harsh
Is putting me to sleep.

Soft and full of comfort now,
Water, sky, and soul
As I break to pieces
I feel that I am whole

Relentlessly it’s pounding
Where the sea meets the land
Their cruelty creates in me
This broken magic – sand.

Full of all the places
Mixed with other lives
I am just one tiny piece
Of the magic from the tide

Hear the music,
Of the hard shells becoming
Weightless,
Timeless
I hold them in my hand

Relentlessly it’s pounding
Where the sea meets the land
Their cruelty creates in me
This broken magic - sand

(Obtained from Lydia Pitts)

November Blues

Song by the Avett Brothers I stumbled upon while perusing their website. I'm posting the lyrics here, silly and blog-ish as it is, since I like them. I inquired about them to the person who recommended them, and they pointed me toward the website. I've gotta say, I wasn't crazy about their sound when first I heard them. I attribute this primarily to the fact that I was expecting something conventional - something that would fit in the neat little Boxes of Genres. I didn't realize how much I leaned on conventional/majority definitions of styles until I couldn't place what the hell these guys are playing. They are at once all and none of the following: bluegrass, country, rock, metal (I guess - they scream a lot), and even a little pop. I don't care for all of their songs, but the ones I like, I like. I'm told and have read that these guys are phenomenal live. I actually just downloaded a live album and can already tell why.

I guess this song speaks to me for the same reason it would (and likely does) speak to many others: I can identify with it. These guys are describing things I've felt and experienced in the past - in this case, to a degree of almost frightening accuracy. But again, I think those experiences are part of the human experience, things we all go through at some point to differing degrees, and in different ways. I enjoy songs like this for the same reason I enjoy quotes: they say things about me, or to me, more succinctly than I could. If I could do what these guys do, and what quotable historical figures do, I would. Then I would be rich and famous and frequently quoted.

Long story short: if you're looking for something to change up your playlist, I recommend them.

"November Blues" by The Avett Brothers
And if I weren't leavin',
Would I catch you dreamin'?
And if I weren't gonna be gone now,
Could I take you home?

And if I told you that I loved you,
Would it change what you see?
And if I was stayin',
Would you stay with me?

And if I had money,
Would it all look good?
And if I had a job now,
Like a good man should?

And if I came to you tomorrow
And said, "Let's run away,"
Would you roll like the wind does -
Baby, would you stay?

My heart is dancin'
To a November tune,
And I hope that you hear it
Singin' songs about you.

I sing songs of sorrow
Because you're not around.
See, babe, I'm gone tomorrow.
Baby, follow me down.

And I don't know why I have to,
But this man must move on.
I loved my time here,
Didn't know 'til I was gone.

November shadows,
Shade, November, change.
November spells sweet memories,
The season blue remains.

Your yellow hair is like the sunlight,
However sweet it shines.
Bit by the cold of December,
I'm warm beside your smile.

Oh, lady, tell me I'm not leavin',
You're everything I dreamed.
I'm killin' myself thinkin'
I've fallen like the leaves.

I'm killin' myself thinkin'
I've fallen like the leaves.

PS - Check Facebook soon for beach camping pictures.