Rory Fitzgerald
I’ve always loved New Year’s Eve. The clock ticks past a threshold in time, and we are suddenly gifted a new beginning. The old year is gone and a new one is born. Anything seems possible in the dawn of a new year.
As 2021 comes into being, we leave a strange year behind us. A new decade began with promise and hope. Yet, before long, rumours of a strange new virus began to circulate. We soon found ourselves thrust into the surreal drama of a global shutdown. Fears of shortages, sickness, economic collapse and death soon swept the world.
The children’s lives were impacted, as birthday parties were cancelled, then clubs, and finally school itself. In our little corner of rural Ireland, we hunkered down and made the most of it. Indeed, we even managed to make it a happy time.
During the pandemic, our household expanded to include three new people: a granny, a dog and a boat. I suppose some pedants might argue that two of these are technically not people, but they are to me. My dog certainly identifies as a human and he is bigger than many people, so I wouldn’t advise that you contradict his sincerely held beliefs. Sailors have long understood that boats have all the characteristics of a person. They can be beautiful, fickle, temperamental and sometimes dangerous. Dispute their quirks, you grow to love them. Only the ignorant and the profane regard boats as inanimate objects.
This year saw our whole family corralled together for weeks on end during the lockdowns. In the shelter of our home, a deeper closeness grew. With school, clubs, parties and sleepovers often gone by the wayside, the kids were always knocking about the house and garden, making dens in the woods, or helping me in the garden. Even when I was working from home all last spring, they were busy downstairs with home school. Their perpetual presence soon became like air, they was just always around. Being in each other’s company all the time meant that I felt a real wrench, if leaving them for even a few hours.
Just once or twice, over summer I had to spend a night or two away from some of the family, in order to keep the boat company. Most often, the older kids came to sea with me. My most compelling memories of the year, were sailing with them along the coasts of Cork and Kerry. We were together too at sea, out by the Skelligs, sliding down mighty seas, powered by a strong Atlantic breeze. Other nights, we shared the silence of a quiet anchorage, until the glass calm was broken as dolphins leapt around the boat in the moonlight. Let’s hope this year brings more such adventures.
The daily grind is the enemy of time. When we do the same thing week-in week-out, we somehow lose time. When I took the Christmas decorations out of the store before Christmas, it seemed as though I’d only put them away there a couple of months prior. A year of routine had made it seem condensed to a couple of months.
By contrast, in times of adventure and change, time seems to pass more slowly. As a young man, I spent a year travelling the world, from the Himalayas, to New Zealand and the Caribbean, before sailing back across the Atlantic. In my memory, that single year seems longer than the decades either side of it.
Children often thrive on routine. We embrace the daily grind of work and school for them. Even our weekends are filled with the kids’ clubs, sports and playdates, which they love. They need this security and stability. We’ve travelled around enough, and they are happy to be rooted, and establishing friends, identity and a sense of place. Yet our workaday routines must also be balanced by finding time for adventure and exploration. For this world is too beautiful, and time is too short.
