I’ve begun a great many books and not finished all of them. One of my favorite beginnings (from a book I keep meaning to finish) is from The Sea and the Jungle, published in 1912 by H.M. Tomlinson. His description of London before he sets off on his Big Adventure sounds just like Seattle:

[It was} a winter morning after rain. There was more rain to come. The sky was waterlogged and the grey ceiling, overstrained, had sagged and dropped to the level of the chimneys. If one of them had pierced it! The danger was imminent.

That day was but a thin solution of night. You know those November mornings with a low, corpse-white east where the sunrise should be, as though the day were still-born. Looking to the dayspring, there is what we have waited for, there the end of our hope, prone and shrouded. This morning of mine was such a morning. The world was very quiet, as though it were exhausted after tears.

Tomlinson started out as just an average guy with a desk job and a bunch of commitments. He dumped it all to be an Adventurer, and he went on to write many books and short stories throughout his life. He’s kind of a role model for me.

Barry and I are leaving on Monday for our next adventure, a short trip, but an important one. It’s our first trip to Europe, where we’ll be spending the Twelve Days of Christmas seeing Portugal. Why Portugal? Well, it started with a boat…

Back in March, I discovered a very unique sailboat for sale in Portimão, on the south coast of Portugal. It’s a junk-rigged Sunbird 32, and it has a few things in common with the 34-foot Badger we were planning to build. It’s about the same size, has the same rig, and it’s outfitted very simply.

But it was thousands of miles away, and in another country. We weren’t ready to consider boats in California, let alone Europe.

As we began our search to buy an interim boat, people asked if we’d seen anything we liked. “Just one, we said, “but it’s in Portugal, ha ha.”

The time came to make Christmas plans, and as usual, Meps has itchy feet and needs to go someplace exotic. Mexico? Peru? How about Portugal?

For, after all these months, Matanie is still for sale, and what better excuse for our first trip to Europe? A few days after we began considering it, stopped in to see Jacqui. Life’s little coincidences are strange — Jacqui is the person who bought Brian’s old Freedom 38, and got Meps and Barry as new friends in the deal. Her doorbell was answered by a young man with a Portuguese accent, which is how we met Nelson.

Nelson was studying in the U.S., but planning to be home in Coimbra by December. So we would have a friend in Portugal to visit! We bought the tickets.

Excited with our purchase, we mentioned our plans to Janine. “You should look up my friend Carlos in Lisbon!” she said, and introduced us via e-mail. Carlos is an architect (with a really cool website), and he’s putting together a New Year’s celebration for friends coming from all over the world.

Now we have two people to visit, plus a boat and a party!

We picked up a map and one guidebook, but we are taking very little else. We plan to just spend the time immersing ourselves in the place, enjoying the architecture and people and food.

And if we buy the boat? Then we’ll figure out the rest. But every time we tell someone about the boat, they ask the silliest question. “If you buy the boat, how will you get it back?” As Barry says, “Very slowly.” Or, as I say, “Back where?”

And so, on the eve of my next Big Adventure, I will simply copy the dedication from H.M. Tomlinson’s book:

DEDICATED TO THOSE WHO DID NOT GO

Best wishes to you all, and a Happy New Year.

A few years back, at a small party at our house, my friend Margaret was telling us about her annual Buddhist silent meditation retreat. None of her listeners were familiar with such a thing, and we thought it was hilarious. We laughed and poked fun at weird people who would sit on the floor for a week without talking.

Oops. Be careful what you poke fun at!

Away from my cynical friends, I asked Margaret to tell me more about this silent meditation stuff. I met Jordan, who answered more questions and induced me to try some meditation at home.

Eventually, I went to my first retreat, a weekend event at Breitenbush with teacher Robert Beatty. Now I was one of those weird people I had poked fun at.

The retreat is not a silent occasion — there’s a teacher, and he or she talks, guiding the meditations and offering Buddhist teachings. There are bells, and the wind in the trees, and birds, and the sound of spoons and forks, and people walking. There’s the sound of running water — have you ever noticed how loud a flushing toilet is? Sometimes, there’s music.

We’re not trying to block out the world, and the world does not, and cannot, become silent. It is simply that the participants do not talk. I love it.

This probably comes as a shock to my family members, who told me growing up that I talked too much.

Today, December 8th, is considered to be the day when Buddha achieved enlightenment. To the list of December holidays, Christmas and Hanukkah and Kwanzaa and the Winter Solstice, we can add Rohatsu.

You won’t find Rohatsu cards, Rohatsu presents, or Rohatsu parties, though.

In Western culture, celebration implies consumption. We buy things, or we get together with friends and family and gorge ourselves on intoxicants and rich food. Rohatsu, on the other hand, caps a week of intensive meditation. In Buddhist centers around the world, people gather for a day or an evening of meditation together. Instead of “celebrating,” they “commemorate” the day of Buddha’s enlightenment by practicing mindfulness.

Mindfulness is the antidote to the crazy holiday season. Instead of laughing at people who meditate, take a few minutes today and try it. Your shopping or party can wait 15 minutes.

Sit down in a quiet place. Relax. When you breathe in, notice that you are breathing in. When you breathe out, notice that you are breathing out. Whenever some thought pops into your head, like “I forgot to take the trash out,” or “What am I going to get my sister for Christmas?” or my favorite, “This is boring,” gently send it away and notice that you are breathing. In. And out. You are alive!

That’s it. Just stop for a few minutes and be present in the moment.

I promise, nobody will laugh at you. Least of all, me.