My first exposure to boats came when I was eleven years old. While at a Boy Scout picnic near a lake, one of the adults took me for a ride in his small outboard runabout. I was hooked. The speed, the sound, and the waves following the boat all created an exciting experience, remembered in detail these many decades later. My dream was of racing outboards and taking girls for boat rides. Popularity was a given.

But life got in the way: school, no family interest in boats, and eventually, adulthood. Marriage to my sweetheart soon followed, and a wonderful son joined our family a few years later. So, the boat continued to be pushed to a future date. Buying one on our budget just wasn’t going to work. Seeing money as the restriction, my next step was to pursue building a boat — that would cut the cost considerably. Could I do that? Surely, it was possible. Kit boats were available, as were many free plans.

So, the priority now was to investigate building my boat. For the next few months, I scoured the ads in magazines, such as Popular Mechanics, and the ilk. Ads were plentiful, as were mail-order catalogs. Predictably, I ordered every one, and they confirmed my assessment: building one of might take time, but I would have a beautiful boat, one to be envied by others. My dilemma was in deciding which of the plans I would build: the race boat looked exciting, but then so also did the cabin cruiser. Decisions, decisions…

But life had other priorities for me. My employer notified all employees that it was closing the business. My dear wife and I were planning for a new house and those, among other issues, became my focus. Boats, votes, goats, totes… my priorities had shifted. Maybe another day…

Life moved on. Our young son was exploring his expanding interests in the world, and that required active parental involvement with my dear wife and me. As a family, life was looking better every day, my life was full, and plans for a boat had become a dim memory — until one day when it all came back.

We had taken a vacation at a lakeside resort where there happened to be a nearby boat rental outlet. Suddenly, I could enjoy a boat. I didn’t need to build one. I didn’t need to buy one. I could rent one and recommit to my dream of boat ownership. Finally, the dream would begin. I rented the boat and, with our son in tow, we drove the boat right to the slip in front of our room. To me, life couldn’t get better. Having a boat at our disposal, resting in a slip right outside our room, was more than I ever anticipated. By then, the sun had gone down, so we postponed our first ride to the following morning.

When morning came, we excitedly got into the boat. Okay, it swayed a bit and that took some adjustment. As we left the slip out into the main waterway, I discovered that boats don’t go exactly where they’re pointed. The passing waves also tended to interfere with my intended direction and stability. On returning to the slip, I made the unfortunate discovery that parking a boat is subject to the waves and to the torque of the engine. Yes, I wasn’t able to neatly steer the boat so that we could easily exit it.

Okay, the boat ride was fun… sorta’. We had a few laughs and enjoyed the experience. But do I need to own a boat for this infrequent experience? A definite NO. Although pleasant, I realized that an occasional, rented, boat outing would adequately address whatever interest I might have. All that time, pondering boats, boat kits, costs, and fantasized trips were all a waste of time. It was all just a dream of something that I found of only light interest.

So, why the wasted energy, the wasted time? Was this all more than a boat? As I pondered this, some vague and fuzzy reasoning began to emerge. This all began back when I was a child, with visions of taking girls for rides. Boating was never the objective: popularity was. In my imagination, people who owned boats and enjoyed the waterways were more interesting and could take friends for rides. I wanted that, being the host to impress others, entertaining them while maintaining control of the exercise. In reviewing those thoughts, having a boat was the last thing I needed. Expensive, maintenance-hungry, and rarely used, mostly just decorating the house driveway with weeds growing beneath it. That’s the reality of most boats I’ve seen.

In reviewing those thoughts, I began to assess other unique interests of mine, as I inferred a pattern was there. As far back as my teenage years, I can recall attempting to share my preference for classical music with friends. You’re right; that was a bomb. Nobody cared. In my twenties, I acquired an advanced-class ham radio license, but let it lapse when I discovered that I found the experiences it offered boring. Somehow, I had anticipated it would make me stand out among others as being more interesting. Nobody cared. Through several years, I owned a number of sports cars. Although I thoroughly enjoyed them, part of the pleasure came from my perception that others saw me as more interesting because of the cars. Nobody cared. To clarify, the only ones who cared already owned one, nullifying the issue. That logic also applies to my many decades of motorcycle worship. Riding is heavenly, but your knowing that I own one is part of the parade.

Am I being negative in such a narrow and self-hate assessment? I think not. People want others to know of the interests that make them unique, despite being unique already. The person who plays golf frequently will inject the topic into the conversation. The persons who own sports cars, motorcycles, boats, or airplanes will be sure to have a photo of themselves with the owned item as their identity on social media or in a photo at their place of work. That’s what people do to make themselves appear more interesting. And it works, but that interest is superficial, focusing on our baggage and not on ourselves.

Much then as I may believe that my actions to improve my uniqueness are helpful, they do the opposite; they categorize me into predefined little boxes that diminish, rather than enhance. My best efforts, then, on displaying my uniqueness, are to do nothing I consider unique for fear of mislabeling my intentions. I can live with that.