When I was asked to sail around the world, not as a first mate, or even a deckhand, but as a therapist/nanny/teacher, yes left my lips before I could weigh up the cons. What cons?
My kind of therapy is not the leather couch kind or the electro kind. It’s the kiddie kind. Paediatric Occupational Therapist is my job title, but on this boat, with this high functioning Autistic eight-year-old, my job is to let a family be a family, for snorkeling trips to be shared between father and son, for dinners at local restaurants to be dinners, not food fights, for brothers to be brothers, not strangers, and for me to dangle my feet over the bow of the boat and know that New York can wait, that corporate ladders will always hold my weight, and that at 29, the sea is my therapy room.
This blog is not about working, but about living. Sure, it’s about therapy, but the kind that comes from breathing in fresh air, climbing mountains, diving down to the bottom of ocean for speckled stones, reeling in fish bigger than a boogie boards, trekking to mountaintop villages, sleeping under the stars, taking typhoid-risks when the food is too tasty to deny, and sitting around fires with local people who you can’t share words with, but can share a moment.
Join me on this adventure. We can dive for speckled stones together.