Dash

They say the two best days in a boat owner's life are the day they buy the boat and the day they sell it.

In between those two days, the rest of the time is filled with spending money, maintaining, cleaning, replacing, and spending more money.

Today was one of those days. I changed the oil and replaced the zinc on the engine inside my Pacific Seacraft 25 sailboat. Her name is Dash.

Maybe you guessed her name is Dash because she is so fast, skimming across San Francisco Bay, winning every race and setting monohull speed records. Sadly, you would be wrong. She is in the slow-and-steady group, chugging along at a comfortable pace, drinking coffee and waving at seagulls.

No, Dash's name comes from a different place, a place of potential, a place of self-realization, a place of regret.

When you are born, you get a birthday. When you die, I suppose you could call that your death day. Between those two dates are the days of your life, Cemeteries are filled with headstones marked with birthdays and death days. And what is written on the headstone between those two dates? A dash.

The dash, a single mark to represent all of your experiences, your loves, your failures, your skills, your commitments, your adventures. A single mark to represent all your days, however many you're lucky enough to get.

She was named by my father. Dad bought her in 1998 and for twenty-ish years, she didn't have a name. We just called her, "The Boat." She mostly only saw short day trips up and down the Mare Island Strait in front of the Vallejo Waterfront. Then, about four or five years ago, Dad said he finally came up with a name. "Dash," he said, and he explained the headstone connection. Immediately, I squinted, hesitating to disapprove. What kind of boat name would require an explanation that includes our death? What's wrong with the typical choices like a woman's name (Jenny Sue), clever weather forecasts (Sunny Days), or names inspiring exploration (Northern Star).

The answer may be in the heart of an aging man, a man looking back more often than looking forward. Maybe he realized the boat was a symbol of his youth, the dichotomy of commitments to his work and family, maybe of dreams forgotten. The name has grown on me and I can now relate to the place where I believe it came from. Nobody knows when their death day will come. Life is short, they say, but you always think you'll get another day. Tomorrow. You'll do it tomorrow, you tell yourself. And then, a kick in the teeth and your life is turned upside down, and your death day is here. Cancer brought this day to my cousin recently. His dash lasted only 41 years. I wonder what Chris would have named his boat if he'd had one.

If they say a boat owner's two best days are the day they buy the boat and the day they sell it, bookending all the other days in between, maybe the lesson is found in those in-between days. The lesson is in the maintenance of the boat, the replacing of the rigging, the painting, the scrubbing, the plotting on the charts, the staring at the compass. Today, I changed the oil. My second best day is not here yet.

P.S. And if anybody asks, her name is Dash because she's fast.