Poor and Free, And Lost At Sea

Being in my boat has a weird emotional effect on me. First off, there is pulling out from the dock. Here I go, walking past million dollar yacht after million dollar yatch, to get into my beat up old speed boat. They, the millionaire captains, sip wine in the foyer of their teak and brass portable mansion, while I'm trying not to notice the peeling paint, and worn carpet of what they likely see as a "cheaper then my high-school jalopy" eye sore. So then I have to un-parallel-park my little beast from between two million dollar mansions. Imagine this, land lubbers: you have a crappy car, parked between million dollar super cars, on ice, and you have to get out without hitting them...and no one has breaks...oh, and the ground is moving A LOT. That's what it's like, taking your little boat out from between yachts at a dock. Then I slowly cruise out of the harbor. It's no-wake-zone, meaning I have to drive so slow I make zero waves that could disturb the million dollar yachts tied in front of the million dollar mansions. (Some mansions have several yachts! How can one use several?! Do you have a guest yacht???) hundreds of mansions, hundreds of docks, looking empty and lifeless year round. For ever one millionaire sipping wine at the dock there are 20 empty mansions with an empty yacht tied in front. Are they at work all day, everyday? The emotional effect of seeing all this wealth is heavy. It's like it walking past a trophy case where each trophy has someone else's name on it, followed by the phrase, "not you, looser"! But then my tiny old craft passes the light house that guards the mouth of the harbor, and the shackles come off. "Chewy, punch it!" I throw the throttle forward, and my ugly little beast rises up out of the water, My engine growls in the most satisfying way imaginable, and we jump to light speed! "Yaaahooo!!!!" In an instant we are flying over the top of the water at a speed those yachts can't dream of. they push through the waves, forcing their way against the current at the cost of hundreds of dollars in fossil fuel every day. I literally rise above of the current and fly away to peace, and freedom, and isolation, leaping from the tops of each wave. My "eye sore" has now become "I SOAR!!!!" In mere minutes I'm miles out of sight of all the mansions, and yachts, and statements of "are you still glad you chose freedom over money, poor boy?" Statements of, "if your music were better, you'd have a yacht too!" Questions of, "do you still think an artists life is better then a business mans?" I escape all this. Islands fly by me in a forest green blur. Seals, their black-lab heads only rising half out of the water, watch me pass before breaching and swimming away unseen in their cold black depths. I wonder, if it's warmer above the water, then below, does a sea mammals breaching give them a brief sensation of warmness? like dipping your feet in a warm bath on a cold day? Once out of the shadows of the million dollar estates, it's about freedom, and exploration, blissful isolation, and my ugly little beast becomes a castle and a dragon all in one. Dolphins breach ahead of me, octopuses lurk below, fish school by the hundreds around me, and my music sings all it's praises as I escape, for the day, from all reminders of what I don't have, and didn't do with my life. And it shows me why my choices were correct. The massive majority of those yachts sit, tied, day after day in front of those mansions, their owners too busy earning the money to pay for them. Never having the time to play with them, like children in expensive private boarding schools who never see their parents. All cost and no love. But me, with $15 dollars in gas for the day, flys across the sea in my jalopy, as often as I want. Day after day of joy, and peace, and escape. Poor and free and happy.