My Summer of Learning All the Things

We’ve had a cottage on Lake Ontario for 26 years. Now that there is no “we,” I have a cottage.

This beautiful place is on an island between Lake Ontario and Sodus Bay. I used to be a “Cottage Queen and Boat Princess.” Now I am the captain of all.

For all those years, my only responsibility was to suntan on the boat and maybe help tie up to the dock.

At the cottage, I sat in the sun and read and sometimes—but not often—cooked a meal. No, really, I did more than that. But I had no idea exactly how much more would be required of me and how little I actually did to keep the place together.

The first thing I had to learn was how to dock the boat.

I drove my son crazy with all my questions until he finally said, “Mom, you just have to feel it.”

Well, a month later, I had a chance to turn that phrase back on him as he was learning how to drive his new-to-him Jeep with a manual transmission.

That was fun!

With lots of practice and a lot of “You can do it! You’re doing great! I’m so proud of you!” from my kids and my friends, I can finally dock the boat.

I can do it alone.

Of course, I had a couple of near misses and close calls, and I may have hit a couple of things, but I lived through it and so did the boat.

I still get shaky and nervous, and I feel like my life revolves around the weather app on my phone and the wind speeds.

No driving the boat if there is a south wind over 5 mph.

That is now my standard.

This year, the water level of the lake is exceptionally high, and I decided to get a boat hoist so I wouldn’t stay up all night making sure the boat didn’t break away from the dock.

It seemed so much easier to just pull into the hoist, push a button, and lift the boat up and out of the water.

Until the day it wasn’t.

I was aggravated by something my ex had said, and I pulled into the hoist, took all the things out of the boat—gallons of water, food, the dog, etc.—and went into the house.

As I was putting the groceries away, I glanced out the window and saw that the boat was floating away.

Apparently, I had not raised the hoist out of the water, and the next wave took the boat out to sea.

Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but that’s how it felt.

I ran outside, threw my reading glasses on the ground, and jumped into the water fully clothed to rescue the boat.

I swam up next to the boat and thought, “Okay, now how do I get into the boat?”

Aha! There is a swim ladder.

So up I went.

And as I’m standing in the boat that was continuing to float away, I said to myself:

Sheila, you don’t have the keys.

Now what?

So I threw the ropes into the water, jumped in after them, and did the side stroke, holding the ropes and pulling the boat all the way back to the dock.

Good thing I forgot that I don’t swim in the Bay because it’s very weedy and there are fish and muskrats and all kinds of critters in there.

My chest was burning, and I was sure I was going to have a heart attack.

But I DID IT!!!

And I will never have to do that again because now I double-check that the hoist is raised and also tie the ropes for double protection.

One morning, I was sitting on the deck, enjoying my morning cup of coffee when I decided I needed a new deck.

After all, this one was 25 years old, and I didn’t want to keep staining it every year.

I figured out what composite decking to get, where to get it, the measurements, and how to get it from land out to the island.

ALL BY MYSELF!

You might think that someone with two Master’s degrees wouldn’t be so excited about this bit of independence, but I was unimaginably impressed with myself.

So now I just had to demolish the old deck and put in the new one.

Easy Peasy.

I grabbed a hammer and, board by board, pulled the damn thing up.

It took me a couple of days, and the sense of accomplishment was amazing.

I had lots of input from lots of people, but I had no way to get the right tools unless I got in that damn boat and went to the store, so I kept at it.

I did figure out that if I used the electric saw, it would be easier.

And after I got over my fear of cutting off a finger, it did actually make the job easier.

I was for sure in a state of I can conquer the world when my son asked me to please wait for him before building the new deck.

I said okay.

And it’s a good thing I did because apparently every new board had to be cut to exact measurements, and a few new replacement joists had to be installed.

It took one 8-hour day, one mom, and one son to build a beautiful new deck.

Besides the comment from my son, “I don’t work this hard when I’m getting paid,” it was great fun.

I learned how to use a weed whacker and a power washer.

I planted a new garden and made a pet cemetery in the garden.

I filled 200 sandbags with rocks.

I drove the boat over to pick up girlfriends for weekend visits.

I drove the boat to go for coffee and walks.

I was becoming someone who could live alone on an island and drive a boat.

I was unbecoming and unraveling all the things I thought I was supposed to be.

It was a beautiful thing.

The cottage is closed for the season, and as it is every year, it feels sad to be leaving.

But for the first time, I drove into the sunset with a giant smile on my face, looking forward to seeing what the next season will teach me.

Thoughts That Helped Me Do the Hard Things

Millions of people know how to drive and dock a boat.

I can do this too.

I can always decide this is not for me.

I have choices. No one is making me do this.

Being on the water is beautiful. It’s my happy place. I love it.

I was a mermaid in a past life.

But the most important thing that helped me do the hard things was being in complete acceptance that my nervous system was on high alert and allowing myself to feel it.

To feel it completely.

To not tell myself I was being ridiculous.

To get comfortable with the shaking hands and the pounding heart.

To give myself compassion.

And to trust myself.

Because maybe learning to do the hard things isn’t about making the fear go away.

Maybe it’s about learning that you can feel the fear—and do it anyway.

And maybe that is part of becoming someone new.

With Love and Joy,

Sheila