I’m not sure what my job is now.
Up until 2012, I was a nurse. I did everything from geriatrics, cardiology, internal med, post op, ER, Home health, oncology, Hospice, research, psych, and some disaster work. Before that, I was a merchant marine officer on the Baltic, North Sea, and Med. Around Thanksgiving, 2012, I went sailing in my sloop and I never came back. I dropped the hook in Dominica for a few months, frequented Fort-de-France for charter work when the money got tight.
Up until about a month ago I spent about six months overseeing a nice hilly fruit and nut plantation on St. Lucie, with goats, sheep, chickens, a burro name Betsy, a mare named Shy, and a border collie named Sam. I made goat cheese, grew herbs, brought in the mangos and pecans, started an experimental morel mushroom cellar, and protected an experimental plot of sugar cane from Betsy’s voracious addiction to fructose.
Today I’m at a friend’s yoga clinic on the Yucatan, resting after a long, involved voyage from the southeast Caribbean to here via stops on Martinique, the Virgins, a little uninhabited paradise called Isla Alto Velo, and Haiti.
Now I enjoy long uninterrupted hours of sleep, good food, yoga, massages, hikes into the interior stumbling across abandoned temples. I teach sailing to the guests now and then, to make it look like I’m not freeloading, although my friend Andrea wants to partner up big time. She’s sweet and incredibly sexy, but I dunno. This shit always happens as soon as you think you’ve got it all figured out.
I let my license and certs slide this year, so I guess I’m retired by default. I really have no inclination to go back to the states. The boat has a few more nautical miles left in her. Work comes my way when I need it. I think I’ll stay out here for a while more.