I’m just back from five weeks in Chacala, Mexico a small fishing village about one hundred and twenty kilometres north of Puerto Vallarta on the Pacific coast. It was wonderful although I’m inclined to tell you how much you wouldn’t like it just to ensure that this glorious authentic village remains unspoiled by tourists. You no doubt have already identified the shameless hypocrisy in all that but that’s when I find the word ‘whatever!’, very helpful.

Each morning my glorious wife Mac and I would swim out into Chacala Bay and visit with the new sailboats and yachts that had come in overnight. A quick ‘hello’ would typically lead to a fantastic conversation with perfect strangers, me treading water, the seafarers happy to speak with a fresh voice. I met all manner of interesting people; two young Brazilian men from Sao Paolo who were on their way to Tahiti; a couple with three young children four, eight and thirteen years of age heading out across the Pacific; another couple from Florida who had been aboard for two years, throughout the pandemic.

They were on a voyage of discovery aboard “Discovery”. When they learned I was from BC they told me they had actually found their boat in Chilliwack, BC and had spent six years fixing it up, fueled by their great dream to sail the oceans as carefree as a warm trade wind. The pandemic had added energy to their quest, being aboard an ocean going sailboat the perfect answer to the pandemic. And their dream came true. They had married two years ago and left on ‘Discovery’ for their endless honeymoon. I loved this story and Byron, the skipper told it with a big smile and what I sensed was a wistful look in his eyes.

“Hey Byron, I love that story. Your boat looks, I don’t know childproofed.” I observed, thinking he’d give me an amusing explanation. In fairness, ‘Discovery’ did look childproofed, high netting along the railing from stem to stern, port and starboard.

“Well yes, that’s because we now have two babies on board.” he replied, laughing. As if on cue one of the babies appeared, furiously crawling along the deck on all fours.

“We thought about cancelling our plans and selling the boat. We still have a home in Florida, and family. But you know, we thought what the heck, we are never going to have this chance again. It wasn’t like we weren’t being told off by both sets of parents either.”

“So the right call?” I asked.

“The Best decision we have ever made.” It was Byron’s wife Molly coming up from below deck looking a little frazzled like every young mother. “And we’re not done yet. We’re going to cross over through the Panama Canal and spend the next two years in the Caribbean. The babies will be four by then and we’re thinking we’ll sell our boat and become landlubbers again. That’ll be hard for sure.”

I couldn’t get enough of these two, their unbridled energy and their single minded resolve were inspiring to be around but by now I had been treading water for twenty minutes, all manner of pelicans diving for dinner just twenty feet away.

“Well, I’d better head in before I overstay my welcome.” I said.

“Oh no, thanks for dropping by” Molly said as we all laughed at how swimming seven hundred metres to say ‘hello’ was hardly ‘dropping by’ “It was great talking to someone with adult sized feet!”

And away I swam knowing I would never see them ever again. But if I was only to have twenty minutes with perfect strangers, this was right up there with The Best of Times.

Those two were thirsty for human company, not surprisingly cooped up as they had been on a 50′ yacht for the past two years. We need human contact we humans. Without it bad things start to happen. I’m not given to nightmares or even bad dreams right now but if I was, my worst nightmare would be to be alone. My glorious wife Mac is a private woman given to long periods of deep thought and introspection. I you might guess, not so much. From the moment I awaken I prattle, rarely about anything important but always about things I find interesting or amusing or worthy of a wee prattle. My long suffering wife always gives me her ear or at least a “that’s nice dear”. It’s all I need. My nightmare? Being the last one left standing. It will not be pretty.

I was working out at a gym in Nanaimo last week beside two women. One of them had lost her husband six months earlier and she was reeling from it all. Her companion was great, listening attentively as her friend prattled on about this and that.

“And I’m going to make a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner tonight. I used to love those when Harold was alive but it’s so hard making it just for yourself.”

She was prattling for sure. She needed the human company of her friend and her friend was paying it forward. Her ‘ear’, her time was her gift to her profoundly sad friend who was trying so hard to navigate being alone. When I was younger I wouldn’t have valued that exchange, even worse I would probably have passed some cryptic judgment,

“Good Lord, grilled cheese sandwich! This is a gym, stop prattling on about nothing!”

I’m older now, seventy-two for those of you who haven’t been reading my stories and sharply aware of what lies ahead, even if I don’t know what that is. I am not that judgemental ass any longer, life having humbled me as it does all of us in due course. I have grown old in a world which has chosen to monetize everything, make it all transactional, ascribing value through monetary currency. Even something as simple as ‘paying it forward’ generally involves paying for a coffee in a Starbuck’s lineup or buying some groceries for the person behind at SaveOn or some such thing. Don’t get me wrong those are generous gestures for sure but they cost nothing. You don’t even speak with the person behind you. You drive away which is of course part of the appeal. Driving away thinking we’ve somehow connected with another human.

But I have come to think there may be a more fulfilling way to ‘pay it forward’. It begins with ‘hello’ and an often times idle chat with the stranger behind you in the lineup. It may well be about grilled cheese sandwiches, it will be some version of ‘prattling on’ but what it really is, no matter what you talk about, is human contact. It is your gift of time and it will cost you nothing. It may be priceless.