Late in the May of 1925, around midnight, Hilaire Belloc climbed into a tiny boat and put out to sea so that he would have some time to think. The sea gives ample time to think, especially if like Belloc you disdain the use of a motor. Some wag once jested that sailing is like being at war: long stretches of boredom punctuated by moments of abject terror. I suppose in some sense that’s correct, but give me the boredom of the sailboat any day over the boredom of the trench, the boredom of the cubicle, the boredom of endless doomscrolling.
An absolute delight from beginning to end.
And on seas, see https://dsimpson.substack.com/p/decoding-jungs-metaphysics - my little meditation on the significance of the Sea of Galilee, which I may one day swim or sail on, or drown in