I want to be a Pirate

 Today's post comes from a writing prompt at the retreat. All of this from a small wooden block. 

Some of us are meant to be near the sea. We need the constant reminder that we are small, infinitesimal even. That we are the grain of sand and not the wave. That we are the detritus, the flotsam and the jetsam, not the power behind the destruction. 

I was thinking this driving down the Great Ocean Road, motoring past the old growth forests, besides the undulating seas. The acknowledgement that I am just a little thing – a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it phenomena on a winding road, heading towards a known place. 

It felt good. 

I am not the pirate, onboard the ship, terrorising all around. I am not that misunderstood. I am not that steampunk version of humanity, forced to negotiate a life away from society. I am not hunted. I am not a visible manifestation of societies scars. As I have two eyes in working order, I have depth perception – no eye patch. I bathe – something that a pirate probably does not do. I read. It’s hard to find an abundance of fresh water on a leaky boat. 

I have a permanence, that any self-respecting pirate would loathe. Dress him in pink and call him Shirley. You’ll have better odds at survival. I do not seek out danger. 

Still, I want to be a pirate. 

Turning 55 brought some serious lifestyle questions to the fore. I didn’t think I would still be alive, if I’m perfectly honest. My father died at 55. My father also had a slew of complex medical problems for most of his life and his passing was a blessing. Things would be different if he had been well. But he knew no different. 

On reaching this age, other than finding myself suffering from crippling anxiety, which has now been addressed, it is as if I’ve been given permission to live. `  

Which is what a pirate would do. 

Pirates answer to nobody. For why should they? Their ship is their home. Their universe. 

They wear what they bloody well want. I will be a pirate who wears an apricot house robe, and dance around my space without a care. 

They speak with authority, for a pirate doesn’t have the constraints of being pigeonholed. It’s not as if they’re a Generation X woman, with all of the crap they’ve been conditioned with over their years. They may have had to raise themselves, look after themselves, and get themselves out of many a sticky situation, like today’s average middle-aged woman, but they are unapologetic about it. 

A pirate would never say sorry – unless they had stepped on their cat’s tail. Now that is a different matter. 

A good pirate does not rape or pillage. They do not steal for personal gain. Think of the Dread Pirate Roberts in The Princess Bride. He is not bad. He’s just a fellow living his life on the high seas, more sinned against than sinning, looking for somebody to replace them when their bones become creaky and the seas to rough. 

And no pirate in their right mind would want to be trapped. Anything to avoid a jail cell, the stocks, or heaven help it, a noose around their neck. That noose could be anything from a football scarf to a diamond necklace to a business tie. The only thing that could reign in a pirate is love. Well, that’s what I like to think. 

To be a pirate is to be responsible for your own welfare and happiness – and to an extent those in their direct circle of influence – and that is it. A pirate knows his boundaries, both internal and external. 

So, I sit here, looking out at the sea, pondering my place in the world, knowing that I’d rather be on the sea, being an active participant in the way that I run my life, rather than life running me. 

I don’t give a fuck about the rest of the stuff. For people will judge the clothes, the outlook the viewpoint, the lifestyle. I would not care. 

Pirates are the masters of their own domain. They are the absolute authority on being authentic. They answer to nobody.

So here am I, lounging around writing in my apricot dressing gown, drinking decaffeinated coffee, eating Turkish Delight and knowing that this is exactly what is needed at this very moment, not giving a thought to what other people think. It is not the way of the buccaneer to kowtow to others. 

This freedom must take some discipline.

Then maybe, I just want to be a pirate because pirates are cool. 

Arrrrrrrr.

Today's song: