My Footprints of Awareness

Let’s start with a conversation opener. Sheesh, where has the year gone, it’s June already! This time last year I was Netflixing hard in an apartment I had rented for 6 months in the beautiful Alsacian city called Strasbourg. Every day I would have my little happy rituals. Go for a walk in the morning, make myself an espresso, buy fresh croissants at the bakery and start my day with a demitasse in my hand and a bucket full of dreams in the other. I would cross the border to Germany and visit some lovely friends in Bavaria who would take me rock climbing, cycling in the beautiful prairies, not to mention the revitalising day hikes in the Black Forest. Magical. Why not pick some fresh blueberries on the way? And after our hard-earned ascent, why not catch up on a traditional German beer and multilingual banter. French or English? Your choice, I speak both fluently.

As easy as it is to mess around and find comfort in your own shoes, I realised that they weren’t really treading far without me having to earn the living that I desired. Being comfortable was, well, very comforting. But alas, I still didn’t feel enriched, enlivened or purposeful without occupying myself with a long-life career. The itch to travel had returned. A keenness to escape my reality of ‘going out to get it’ and reap the rewards of hard-earned labour. Well, since I’ve joined yachting, I sure got what I asked for.

As I scroll down my Facebook newsfeed every morning, I notice a huge influx of South Africans hoping to break into the yachting industry. “Hard-working female seeking junior Stewardess position”. Meanwhile, employers on the high chair post, “Seeking qualified stewardess with at least X amount of experience. This one’s my favourite, “NO DRAMA QUEENS NEED APPLY”. Now you might imagine a prissy princess mounting herself onto the passerelle like a model out of Miss World, waving at her fellow countrymen, her hair gently fluttering in the Summer breeze, crown gleaming with grace and poise. She has it all under control, what’s the worst that could happen on a superyacht? All we have to do is clean, right?

The joke’s on all of us who start out in the industry. Whether you like it or not, whether your childhood was shit or not, there is nothing about your personality, past experience or intellect that will make you better, stronger or more powerful when you’re sharing a similar work space with at least nine other colleagues. My first few months in the industry were spent suffering, complaining, suffering some more and receiving verbal beatings like a bat outta hell! A drama queen I was, unable to understand why they get the upper hand, while I have to stay in the laundry, all day, and iron the shit out of the happy peoples’ clothes. What is the point of polishing something that’s already clean? Why, oh why, oh WHY are you asking me to take time out of my break to serve a guest welcome towels upon his arrival! Can’t you see that my feet hurt, I’ve gained ten pounds and my hands stink of bleach! I blame you. I blame the lot of you for making my life hell! I can’t do this, I quit! Why is the crew being so mean to me? What have I (emphasis on the ME) ever done to you!

And then one day the lighting hits, my brain rattles with confusion, I finally have common sense slapping me on the left cheek – YOU are the drama queen! As I take a step back from this storm I just walked into, I slowly seat myself amongst the hustle and bustle of the busy crew mess. Lunch is finally served, our mouths are hungry and we can’t wait to dig into this warm, delectable chef cooked roast. Yum. I look around me in a reserved stance and gradually start noticing that I’m not the only one going through hard times. We sometimes forget that our fellow crew have private lives that none of us even know about. That, while half of us are given the night off to sleep, some wake up just in time to start their shift. Guests in bed, lights off, time to scrub the deck in the dead of night.

But wait, why are we not seeing EVERYONE struggling? How are they still able to get up every morning, with a tantamount more responsibility than some of us were ever given throughout the day, and still manage to get the job done with efficiency followed by a blinding, white, shiny smile? What’s your secret? You must be raging mad. What I learned was (and I’ve been told this a million times) that it’s all in the mind. What an anticlimax. Some people have worked in such strenuous conditions for so long that hard work really is just second nature. And some of us, which I believe I may be one of them, have grown into a life of comfort, financial security and a knowing that this soft, cuddly bed and these loving, giving parents I call my own are the only things I need in life. Until I have to make my own bloody bed. Damn you adulthood!

And so I wake up every morning, slapping my Self on the wrist, forcing myself to shut up, suit up and get out there with a smile, even if I don’t like what I see or don’t want to do what I’m told. I now accept that my life does not have to be as easy and that every opportunity in life is a damn big gift that you never realised was offered to you, only because it doesn’t have a big shiny bow and a fluffy puppy popping out of it. Hard, unforgiving, ruthless work is a gift. The people who talk you down, who disrespect you and who think they can demean you are a gift. The long hours, the stress, the overeating, they are a gift. The midnight tears, the achy muscles, that extra uninvited wrinkle. It is a gift. To make you stronger, wiser, more humble. To know the difference between resilience and courage. You know that it’s not forever, even if your brain tricks you into thinking the latter. It’s my ego that’s the drama queen, now all I have to do is ignore the bitch! Take back your crown, I’m learning something bigger here!

Netflixing in a hammock can get too comfortable sometimes!

And when the storm has passed, the season ends, you pack your bags and you wave goodbye to some you may never see again. Some will never forget you, some will continue your legacy and some will not even remember your name once you have left. But that’s OK, they’ve all given you cute fluffy puppies, wrapped in a bow. So many puppies that you don’t know what to do with. And then next morning when I wake up, go for my walk, drink my little espresso and bite into my freshly baked croissant, I will thank each and every person who crossed my path for helping me move to the next level of my life. One that I can handle better, or feel more confident in. Could be a career, a new business, a new creative idea, who knows…..

But thanks for all the magic anyway. Keep the puppies coming 😉

Xx

Comments