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on a little sailing boat. I felt a wave of something vital coming over me, and I set to work
with renewed vigor at my ex-parents-in-laws' pool repair company.
I spent the best part of a year assisting a team of loyal Mexican workers laying fiberglass
linings in hundreds of cracked swimming pools in and around southern California. The
work was hard, hot, and prickly to say the least. I saw my son on the weekends, and we
would take off into the mountains and go camping, hiking, or learning to ski. We had a lot
of fun and bonded very well. I am so glad that this happened in the way it did, as we have
become the best of friends ever since.
The year flew by. I met several wonderful people in California, people that helped shape
my life, and I will always be very grateful to them. However, I had a responsibility back in
Australia which I could not avoid. I decided then that the answer was to sail back to Hawaii
where I would settle down, earn a decent living, and help support Dylan with his school-
ing. He would come over to Hawaii during his spring breaks and spend three weeks out of
every year with me.
I believed I was ready for the next chapter of my life; the decision had been made. I would
not sail back to South Africa as originally planned but would rather go back to Hawaii to
help raise my son. I believe we both looked forward to our spending time together each
year, and a lot of good things were to come from that decision.
But first I would have to sail Déjà vu back to Hawaii. It was no easy task; I would have to
sail over five thousand miles against the prevailing trade winds on my own. I had remained
as fit as I could in California, running almost every other day, eating quality food, and not
drinking much. I would need to be fit of body and mind as well. It was a challenge I wanted
to rise to. It was the culmination of all the years of my involvement with boats and sailing,
the ultimate test, I felt. It would almost kill me.
Goodbyes are never easy, and when I said goodbye to seven-year-old Dylan, there were
tears in both our eyes. It was awful, he clung to me like a limpet, and I actually had to
pry his little fingers off me. He looked at me with his large, blue, terrified eyes, and I died
a thousand deaths inside. How could I explain to him that which I needed for him to un-
derstand? That I would be back as soon as possible, and that he would be seeing me on a
lovely island in the sun for his holidays every year for the next twelve or thirteen years.
I caught the loud, impersonal bus back to Los Angeles Airport, a sobering experience at
the best of times. I was numb with pain and depression from the farewell. I felt I was never
going to be happy again. My thoughts were with my beautiful little boy the whole day: how
could I justify leaving him again? I burnt with shame, but I had to do something about Déjà
vu. It was all I had in the way of an investment. I had also realized there was no way I could
be happy living in California; it was too pacey and glossy for this simple South African. I
