“Adjusting the Sails”

Written by a client and shared with their consent.

All of my life, I’ve been a sailor. Whether it was visiting my grandmother at the beach or taking a weekend trip to the bay, part of my summer was always spent on the water. To this day, I remember the first time I stepped foot on a sailboat, my dad grabbing the hooks on my life vest, dragging me over the sides of the Hobie Cat. A few years later, in the summer leading up to third grade, my mom enrolled me in sailing camp. Finally old enough, I was excited to sail my own boat for the week. Confident in my previous sailing experiences – all of which amounted to me relaxing on the boat while everyone else did the actual sailing – I was shocked by how much work it truly requires. When my boat capsized on the first day of camp, I quickly realized that my knowledge of tacking patterns and various terminology was only so helpful when faced with unpredictable winds along the river. 

Throughout that week, my frustration continued to grow. I had been confident in my knowledge – I knew how to rig my boat, I knew exactly how to tack and jibe, I knew to let the sails out if the boat began to heel – I knew exactly what I needed to do, so why did I keep making mistakes? Why couldn’t I control the boat? 

Thinking about this moment reminded me of a quote I heard a while back – “You can’t control the wind, but you can adjust the sails.” In all of my aggravation that week, I failed to realize that even when you do everything right, certain things will remain out of your control. At the end of the day, even the best sailors are confronted with uncontrollable winds. However, the greatest sailors succeed because they continue to adjust the sails with every shifting wind, never dwelling on the cause of the storm. 

Ever since that camp, I have tried to sail every summer whenever my family takes our vacation. Over the years, I have learned how to trust my instincts on the boat, react quickly, and go with the flow quite literally. 

When I started my freshman year, I anticipated I would do much of the same, trusting my instincts and smoothly sailing into this new experience. A boarding environment seemed like a natural fit for me. Growing up, I had thrived under the demands of a busy schedule; afternoons without practices or weekends with no tournaments were few and far between. I never had much downtime growing up because there was always an activity to do next. I seemed like a great fit for our busy life here. 

However, when I began my freshman year, the waves of reality came crashing down. My enthusiasm for the new independence I found at boarding school quickly began to wear off when I realized that I had to start managing my own time. While I found success in the daily structure of academics and sports, any moments of free time began to present a whole new challenge. As the initial excitement of freshman year wore off, I became uncomfortably aware of my environment, hyperfocusing on every shifting wind. Eventually, I spent my free time retreating to my room, becoming more entrapped by a whirlpool of insecurities. 

Unable to escape and losing control, I kept attempting to change my sails. Each time I thought I had it, the winds would change, leaving me even more adrift. Feeling like there was nothing I could do, I continued to spiral, wondering why and how I ended up in the storm. My instincts were steering me wrong and leading me deeper and deeper into choppy water. 

Why was this happening? 

I was supposed to be able to handle this transition flawlessly, just like everyone else, right? I was the captain of this ship, and I should know the way to go. But I didn’t. I was on a solo sail, the storm clouds over me only growing darker and darker. 

I came to the point in the winter, confronted with the fact that I couldn’t do this on my own. Despite all of my denials, those who loved me could see that I needed help. I desperately wanted to be fine, and I felt ashamed that I had to be rescued. I didn’t want to abandon ship. 

After receiving professional advice, my family ultimately determined that I needed to take some time away from school. 

After taking a few weeks off, I returned to finish the year. That summer, I entered a program to help me through the intensive work I needed to do. Writing this talk and reflecting on this time, it was actually hard to remember everything. Working on yourself is draining, and it took a lot of my physical and mental energy. When you sail, you have to be present and react in the moment. I kept reliving each of my mistakes, I was never going to find the shore. If I wanted to live my life, work hard at school, and play the sports I loved, I needed to be here mentally and physically. 

After months of unrelenting rain, the winds died down and the clouds began to break. Even though the storm had passed, each day was not a breeze. My summer away left me exhausted, and my return home made the vicious cycle seem endless. Recognizing that I needed help was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I had been off course for so long, and I needed to find new ways to navigate. 

If you were to ask me if I resent the winds that sent me into the storm, my honest answer would be no. In full transparency. I have become grateful for my darkest moments in the wake of each storm. To know so much about myself at a relatively young age is a good thing. Going through this time in a smaller community gifted me with supportive people who continued sailing by my side even through the storms. I am fortunate to have my family close by, supporting me every step of the way. They helped me find a way forward, leaving me with invaluable lessons along the way. 

Like it or not, we will all face a time when we find ourselves adrift. We might be sailing different seas, but we will all encounter storms. In these moments, it is important to listen to the people who know us best and 

love us the most. The world tells you that you should be independent, confronting each challenge on your own. I, and I know others, have found this not to be the case. We need each other on our voyages. A captain without a crew will only stay lost among the seas. 

Now, I am turning my boat toward the harbor. It might not be so new and shiny, in fact, it is a little battered, the paint is chipping, and frayed patches covering ripped sails. But I can see the light in the harbor ahead. I am thankful for this leg of the journey. In just a few days I will walk across the stage at graduation, setting sail for a next adventure as a wiser sailor ready to conquer new seas.