I ran my recent blog post thru ChatGPT to see what it could do. Well, it certainly did a professional—and polished—cleanup. Just look at all those separate paragraphs! And those dashes—almost magical. Microsoft has some issues with it as Co-Pilot underlined some words that it said needed to be re-written. Well, each to their own. Would love to have Co-Pilot talk directly with ChatGPT and maybe have Gemini arbitrate.
ChatGPT didn’t seem to pick up on my reference to Laugh In’s Ernestine. You remember her, right—the telephone receptionist who always wanted to know the person she was talking to? I understand—that was before ChatGPT was born. OMG, I can’t stop—dashing!
I wonder if it found it ironic to maintain the phrase “ultra-processed digital missive”?
Not to be outdone however, it managed a name drop to show how it can statistically word associate. ChatGPT knows John Donne! But apparently doesn’t think sailing around the world without modern navigations system is worth mentioning.
AI is the future—no doubt! I guess I will just have to use more Dashes, Paragraphs and Polish to keep up—and ethereal experiences!
ChatGPT: Here is a polished and more professional version that preserves your reflective voice, humor, and central themes:
“It is not rocket science to get on a boat and sail somewhere,” Singh said. “It’s a choice not to connect.”
—Simon Singh, Professor, University of Waterloo, Ontario
Singh was not writing about ocean cruisers, although he might well have been. He was referring instead to the world’s “uncontacted” Indigenous groups—fewer than 200 communities believed to remain in relative isolation. They live primarily in South America, Asia, and the Pacific, with many located in Brazil, as well as Indonesia and India. Some of these communities may number only a few dozen people.
By and large, their isolation is a choice: a decision to remain unconnected, off the grid, and apart from the larger world. In many cases, local governments seek to protect that choice, even as modernity remains an ever-present and encroaching force. These communities should not be viewed as “stuck in prehistory,” but rather as living within a history—and a way of life—they have chosen to preserve.
Professor Singh is also a major contributor to the documentary Metabolism of Islands, which explores a related subject.
The metabolism of an island can be understood as its process of sustaining life: the input of resources, the demands placed upon those resources, and the resulting outputs. Again, Singh was not referring to cruisers and their wanderlust, although the comparison is tempting. He was examining the survival strategies of small island populations and the challenges created by limited resources and growing demands.
Both ideas—the choice not to connect and the challenges of sustaining life within a closed or constrained system—may resonate with many liveaboard cruisers. They certainly do with us.
At first glance, the choice not to connect seems paradoxical within the cruising community. I have often said, and written, that cruising is a highly social endeavor. A casual perusal of cruising publications reveals countless organizations, associations, businesses, publications, and government agencies devoted to supporting the cruising community in all its forms.
Even the lone solo sailor is no exception. Not to be confused with the Solo Class Association, solo sailors are often remarkably well connected. From Joshua Slocum’s pioneering voyage in 1898 to organizations such as the International Joshua Slocum Society, and from websites cataloging hundreds of solo sailors to events such as the Global Solo Challenge, there is no shortage of communities devoted to those who choose to sail alone.
Then there is the Golden Globe Race, where sailors set out on a solo, nonstop circumnavigation using traditional navigation methods and minimal outside contact. Even there, however, the solitary sailor remains part of a larger community—a club of sorts for those who have chosen one of the most demanding forms of connection with the sea.
To paraphrase Groucho Marx: I don’t want to sail in any organization that organizes sailors.
By definition, we would never hear much about truly off-the-grid sailors, solo or otherwise, because they would be just that—off the grid. They would not appear in publications, blogs, videos, or social media. There would be no membership dues, boards of directors, bylaws, or websites devoted to their exploits.
And yet, I suspect they are out there. Somewhere.
Perhaps visiting the Sentinelese in the Bay of Bengal at this very moment. Or perhaps anchored quietly in a remote cove—or even on a sailboat next to ours.
Of course, being “connected” today is far more elaborate than waving to a neighbor or meeting friends for a drink. Who doesn’t use the internet? When you receive a message, are you communicating with the person you intended to reach—or with an ultra-processed digital missive? How much does AI know about you? Which of your boat systems are connected to the internet? Are you on AIS? Can you monitor your boat from shore?
Connections now reach outward like the tentacles of an octopus. At what point does technology cease to be merely a tool and begin to become an alternate personality?
Flock is on land. AIS is on the water. Apps, agents, and Starlink may be our Eye of Sauron—ever watchful. Sailing organizations can know where their members are at almost any moment. And we have already seen examples of water utilities discovering the downside of being too connected.
Then there is the metabolism of sailing—another reality every cruiser must confront.
The inputs are the vessel, crew, fuel, supplies, and provisions. The demands include seaworthiness, companionship, energy generation, food, water, and repair capability. The outputs are transportation, waste, environmental impacts—and, if we are fortunate, a collection of ethereal experiences that cannot easily be measured.
Singh’s documentary examines how the populations of small islands must live within the dictates of their own metabolism. Life aboard a boat imposes similar constraints. Resources are finite. Energy must be generated. Food and water must be acquired. Waste must be managed. Repairs require materials, skills, and access to the outside world.
Yet, as John Donne reminded us, no man is an island. Outside inputs are still necessary.
Island communities depend upon the movement of energy, food, goods, and people. Residents and tourists alike place demands on limited resources. The resulting outputs include physical waste, environmental consequences, and cultural change. Cruisers are part of that metabolism as well. We participate in every stage of it, and we can see the effects clearly every day in the Eastern Caribbean islands.
Maureen and I have been in New York for nearly three months while Kalunamoo waits out hurricane season in Trinidad. During that time, we witnessed our grandson’s wedding, revisited family and friends, and caught up with doctors. We drove to the lakes and peaks of the Adirondacks and to the shores of Annapolis. We fished the waters off Long Island, marveled at the travels of Odysseus on the big screen, enjoyed Come From Away on stage, and ate genuine New York pizza and bagels along with Chesapeake blue crabs.
In other words, we have been thoroughly connected to the metabolism of life on land.
And yet, the pull to disconnect—to construct a different metabolism of life afloat—remains.
Not totally. Not completely. But just enough.
We belong to a few sailing organizations. We enjoy impromptu sundowners with cruisers we meet in anchorages. We remain connected through the internet and through friendships ashore and afloat. I am always on the lookout for musicians willing to make a little happy noise together.
I suspect most cruising sailors feel much the same way, each with his or her own definition of “enough.”
We look forward to meeting new cruisers and local residents, even when sailing in familiar waters. In September, we will return to Kalunamoo, ready to disconnect from some of the potholes in the metabolism of life on land and readopt the metabolism of life afloat.
Three months ashore have not diminished the pull.
It is not rocket science.
But perhaps, like gravity, it remains something of a mystery.
Kalunamoo 