Location: Statia
Hello to whoever is reading this and welcome to the 29th day of our lovely voyage.
Todays blog, Ill admit, might seem like a bit of a downer, but its real, and its hopeful, so try and stay with me till the end.
There are certain phrases adults use when something is objectively unpleasant.
It builds character.
Youll laugh about this later.
This is good for you.
Today, I would like to respectfully request evidence.
Somewhere along the way, Gabe said something that has stuck with me: suffering through something the hard way makes doing it the easy way feel much easier. At first, it sounded like one of those inspirational sailing quotes you nod along to while everything is going well. Recently, though, it started feeling less like a quote and more like the official theme of Ocean Star.
Life aboard has not exactly been luxurious. The air conditioning isnt working, although attempts are being made to bring it back to life. For a while, most of the outlets had joined it in retirement, leaving us with maybe an hour or two each day to charge everything we owned. I dont think Ive ever felt so emotionally connected to a functioning electrical socket. Charging became a competitive sport. You carefully positioned your phone, confirmed that the tiny lightning bolt had appeared, and walked away feeling accomplished. Then someone accidentally knocked the plug loose, and there went your communication with the outside world for the day.
And then there are the roaches.
It began with one.
Then three.
Then the babies arrived.
At that point, we had to accept that they were no longer visitors. They had established a multigenerational community aboard Ocean Star and were beginning to make long-term plans.
Today, we finally fought back.
We removed practically everything from the saloon, including our bedding and sheets, so the boat could be fumigated. Watching our belongings pile up outside made it look as though we were either cleaning the boat or being evicted from it.
At the time of writing, the outcome of the war remains uncertain. (The war was victorious)
In between all of that, we hiked a dormant volcano. Because of course, when your floating home is being fumigated, the natural alternative is to climb a mountain that used to explode.
The hike was a welcome change of scenery, but it was still a hike: heat, sweat, steep ground, tired legs, and the occasional moment of wondering why anyone voluntarily goes upward when gravity has already provided a perfectly good alternative.
Afterward, while the boat continued being fumigated, some of us went to a nearby resort for a couple of hours during some free time. It wasnt my first time at a resort, nor was it the most impressive resort around the Caribbean, but in that moment, it felt incredible.
The pool may have been the best swim weve had in a while. We kept doing laps, and compared to the ocean, the water felt impossibly smooth. There were no waves pushing us around, no salt in our eyes, and no need to fight against the water. We simply moved through it, weightless.
Then came the warm showers. Warm, effortless showers. No balancing, no rationing water, no ocean swells, no barracuda lurking below our feet, and no wondering whether shampoo would immediately be replaced by seawater. For two hours, everything felt so easy.
And maybe thats what Gabe meant. If so, I think he might be onto something.
The pool wasnt extraordinary because it was the greatest pool in the world. The shower wasnt extraordinary because it was the greatest shower in the world. They felt extraordinary because, for a little while, things that had become difficult were suddenly simple again.
Afterward, we returned for a boat clean-up, because even roach warfare, volcanic exploration, and temporary resort luxury do not excuse us from tidiness and proper hygiene.
But the hardest parts of the last few days havent been the heat, the charging situation, or even our new insect roommates.
Cully, one of our crewmates, also had to leave the program earlier than any of us expected after an unfortunate predicament. His departure shifted the atmosphere aboard. The schedule continued, meals were served, watches were stood, and classes began when they were supposed to, but the energy was lower for a while. When someone becomes part of the rhythm of a crew, even a sudden change in that rhythm can be felt.
At the same time, tensions had started to rise.
Chores that seemed manageable at the beginning began to feel more repetitive. Sometimes they were rushed or only partly completed, which meant the bathrooms were not always as clean as they should have been and the dishes were not always ready for the next person. Small frustrations started stacking on top of one another. On land, you can leave the room, go home, shut a door, or take some space. On a boat, the person who annoyed you at breakfast will also be beside you at lunch, across from you in class, and standing watch with you later that night.
There is nowhere to hide from one another.
Maybe thats also part of the point.
Sea|mester is easy to describe using the beautiful parts: sailing between islands, diving reefs, hiking volcanoes, watching sunsets, and exploring places many people will never see. All of that is real. But so are clogged bathrooms, unfinished dishes, broken outlets, homesickness, exhaustion, personality clashes, and the occasional cockroach appearing exactly where no cockroach has any business being.
Maybe growth doesnt happen only in the beautiful parts.
Maybe it happens when you clean something you didnt make dirty. When you complete a chore properly even though nobody is watching. When you choose patience with someone who might be getting on your nerves. When you carry your own frustration without handing it to the next person. When the energy is low, but you still show up.
A day or two ago, everything seemed to compound at once, and I felt lower than I had at any other point on this trip. I wont lie: I felt defeated.
My bunkmate Noah asked whether I was all right. When I needed a moment away from everything, he chose to leave the laughs and the others behind and came to sit beside me instead. He didnt need to fix anything. He was simply there.
Later, Lizzy came up from below deck and handed me one of the cookies she had made that night because she had noticed too.
They noticed, and it felt good to be noticed.
It turns out we usually dont need some grand solution. We need time. We need a moment to be low without believing we would remain there forever. And we need people willing to remind us, quietly, that were not sitting there alone.
Im back now, and better than ever.
But I certainly dont think that happened entirely by myself. Sometimes showing up means finding the strength to keep going. Other times, it means noticing when someone else cannot and choosing to sit beside them until they can.
During squeeze tonight, I asked everyone whether they had experienced a moment like that on this trip, a moment when someone noticed them or helped them without being asked.
Every person had an answer.
That told me something important. Even when tensions rise, chores frustrate us, and it doesnt always seem like we are paying attention to one another, we are. We may not always show it perfectly, but when it counts, this crew has been there for one another.
The difficult part is that hardship does not automatically make people better. It only gives us the opportunity to become better. We can respond by withdrawing, blaming, and doing less, or by becoming more responsible for the small community were all depending on.
I still dont know exactly how each os us will choose to be shaped by all of this.
But today gave me reason to hope.
The outlets are working again. The air conditioning may eventually follow. The mood has started to lift, tensions have eased, and people seem to be finding their way back to one another. Things are getting better, not instantly, not perfectly, and not all at once, but noticeably.
I would love to end this by saying today fixed everything. It did not. The air conditioning remains more of a promise than a machine. Our crew is still adjusting to change. The chores will return tomorrow, and there is always the possibility that one extremely determined roach survived the fumigation and is currently planning revenge.
But tomorrow also gives us another chance.
Another chance to clean the dishes properly. Another chance to speak with patience. Another chance to notice when someone is struggling. Another chance to remember that a crew is not built only when we raise sails together; it is built when living together becomes difficult and we decide, deliberately, not to give up on one another.
Maybe Gabe was right.
Doing things the hard way does make the easy way easier. And although we may not be completely through the hard part yet, for the first time in a little while, it feels like we might be finding our way forward.