What if the air had colors

When I was 10, my parents enrolled my older brother and me in summer sailing camp. The first day my group of girls was taught in Dyer Dhows. The instructor or camp counselor, Punky (a woman whose name was really Ann I think), helped us rig the dingy and load the boats into the water. Then, we were basically left to figure things out with a little verbal instruction. I was paired with a girl I knew since nursery school. We figured out the basics of sailing upwind, luffing into the wind, reaching, and sailing downwind, with lots of trial and error that morning. I loved learning how to sail. We ate lunch on the grass under a shade tree. Punky sat with us and told us we were doing a great job so far. Either that summer or next I won a camp trophy for Dyer Dhow racing. Here's a painting I made a few years ago after thinking about Dyer Dhow racing.

The next summer we started sailing in a Bluejay, a slightly large boat with a jib and spinnaker (for downwind). My dad had purchased a Blue Jay, with a white hull, for my older brother to use, and so he was the skipper. Sometimes the counselors would pair me as crew with my brother. He would yell at me. The realization by a target of abuse, that it isn’t their fault, wasn’t in my brain yet. One especially rainy, cold summer day, when I was asked to crew for him, I was starting to get the feeling it was a default solution by the counselors because others didn’t want to sail with him. The day before, the pediatrician had given me a penicillin shot, yup in the butt, for my ear infection that had worsened. My backside muscle was stiff and cramped, probably partly due to my desire to resist getting the shot. So that morning I was sent out as crew, yelled at again by the skipper, my brother, and because of the cooler temp, my painful muscle worsened. By lunch I was miserable and asked to go home. My mom picked me up. I’m not sure how I avoided future similar crewing sessions that summer, but I think I talked with Punky and asked to never ask me to crew again for my older sibling.

The next summer, one of my best friends, Faith, who also went to this sailing camp had a new Bluejay that her Dad purchased. It had a beautiful aqua green hull. It smelled new. We joined up with another girl, Susan, and became a team. We traded off who was the skipper and who was the crew. It was easy and if there was a disagreement, we managed to work it out and respect eachother. We practiced racing every day, and eventually got to go to two regattas, Novice Open and Pequot, where we earned third and second place respectively. The Pequot regatta was especially fun because there was an evening cookout with pool games.

The next year, the girls that I sailed with decided not to return to camp. Even though I enjoyed sailing, I didn’t want to return to the sailing camp because I was afraid I would be asked to crew for my brother again. I asked my parents if I could do a different "camp", and they agreed, but I didn’t really explain why. I might have said something like “I just don’t like being salty all the time.” That summer I helped take care of my younger brother, did some babysitting, took some daily tennis lessons, and enjoyed hanging out, playing cards and swimming with some other girls I knew.

The next time I tried sailing, racing in small boats, was in high school. I went to boarding school There was a sailing team that raced 420s. I joined sophomore year, my first year at the school. My older brother was also on the sailing team. I was one of 3 girls on the team. The girls were always assigned as crew. Again I was asked to crew for my brother, and did it, but then was reminded of why I didn’t like that option. I’m not sure if I was considered the least skilled crew or why, because it was never stated, but the coach often kept me in the Whaler with him, when we had an odd number of kids for practice. Maybe I said I didn’t want to sail with my brother, maybe I didn’t. I can’t remember. It was frustrating. The sailing coach was also the art teacher. He was really skilled at cartoon style illustration, and when he taught sailing tactics, I loved seeing his fun drawings on the chalk board. I didn’t take art classes because I was more focused on science. One day he said to me, “What if the air had colors, and you could see the colors”. I wasn’t sure whether he was just starting conversation or trying to distract me from my position of being excluded. I said, “you mean like the molecules of oxygen and carbon and nitrogen?” I don’t think that’s what he really meant but I was taking chemistry so that’s the direction I went. Now, I like to think he meant if the feeling of air, the breeze, the warmth, the coolness, was colored. Anyway, I stopped sailing again after that season.

This week I’ve been painting circles. I’m not quite in the mood to engage in a more challenging watercolor. I felt like using my circle stencil and exploring my paint colors. I’ve been doing brain retraining with DNRS (see https://retrainingthebrain.com/) and learning new skills is helpful. I meet with a group of women by zoom, and we usually engage in some sort of craft, art or sometimes just folding laundry, working on a spreadsheet or baking cookies. We’ve been doing this for I think 3 years. This zoom group is all smart amazing, compassionate, talented women, sisters, who are also healing with DNRS. I’ve learned to find ways to switch off negative pathways onto joy with more simple art activities, especially when I’m especially distracted. It helps me focus without being too intense or attached to perfectionism. So, like I said, painting circles. I ended up with a picture of circles that were colors I love, greens, blues, purple. Then, I turned it into a sky photo, by adding an ultramarine blue wash and using a tissue to blot sections and make clouds. Then I added some birds. So, yup, what if the air had colors, and circles, and it always has birds. I am so grateful for birds, and colors, and special friendships.