I went to my boat last night.
I laid tiles down on the lower top deck. I sat – and then lay down – while gazing at all my gentle giant floating neighbours. Then I potted two geraniums into a hanging pot and hung it from a pre-existing plant hook in the ceiling of the foredeck. Then I went inside and sat on the bed. And I looked at things for 30 minutes, in silence, just soaking them all in. Then I turned on the electricity. And then I went to the console and turned on all the buttons, and then went into the bathroom and flipped the switch and all the lights came on. And then, nervously, I flushed the toilet… and it took in swirly water and quickly resumed. And then I went to the very top, and sat there, and was so happy. And then I turned everything off, and biked home.
This is a very slow familiarisation. I am nervous, but my curiosity shines through my nervousness. When I turn on the water, as when I turn on the blowers, I love hearing the little motor. This humming brings me immense satisfaction.
My boat is my companion, and we are both at the beginning of very personal journeys.