The Art of Doing Nothing

Treasuring the time when the boat is barely moving

Article by Jonathan Lewis

While I don’t consider sailing at a knot or less for hours at a time, doing nothing, it’s difficult for some people to understand it, and rather than attempt comprehension they opt for other means of propulsion. I have spent a significant portion of my life waiting for the breeze to fill in. While I’m not Waiting for Godot, as in the play by Samuel Beckett, there is an existential component of the activity I find not only rewarding, but comforting. My Theatre of the Absurd takes place between distant isobars and the absence of a sea breeze. The hot air rising from the landmass fails to encourage the cool wind off the water to fill the void. The sun’s radiation is somehow negated. The desired circulation is curtailed, and the outcome is not only a calm—but also calming. As a lifelong sailor I’ve learned to appreciate this serene state.

Years ago I suffered a torn rotator cuff after stubbornly refusing to allow my motorcycle to reach the pavement. Icing the culprit body parts was part of the physical therapy procedure and remedy. My young therapist couldn’t understand how I could just sit there, for fifteen minutes or more, without using my cellphone to watch videos, listen to podcasts, or call up some other entertainment to occupy the emptiness. I’d always respond cheerfully that I was fine with my thoughts and was “waiting for wind.”

Dick Newick, a hero and friend of mine, said more than once: “People sail for fun and no one has yet convinced me that it’s more fun to go slow than it is to go fast.” While I certainly mean no disrespect to Dick and enjoy the exhilarating experience of planning down waves or skimming along on flat seas—I also treasure my time when the boat is barely moving; My senses take in the sounds, sights, and smells of my surroundings without the demands or urgencies required by a rapid pace.

Once while coasting along an out island in the Bahamas, at a hair above the flow of the current, the ocean’s surface became a veritable magnifying glass. A kaleidoscope of creatures were revealed below the clear waters and it was as if we were orbiting the planet in the silence of space and she was exposing all her wonders unabashedly to our prying eyes.

While I sometimes enjoy the benefits offered by ports of call, the pleasure of my time on the water far outweighs any terrestrial opportunities or explorations. Onboard is where I want to be—the variety of sights and experiences offered is profound. All we have to do is open ourselves up to recognizing them. As the Italians so aptly say, Dolce far niente. There is indeed a sweetness in doing nothing. •SCA•

  Below: Doing Nothing on Dabob Bay, Washington