There was a weekend at the bookshop where I had lofty plans to drive to Aviemore for a photo shoot then spend the night in Glasgow for Halloween, and it all fell apart. That night, I went to the pub for drinks with Margi before she headed back to Philadelphia, and while waiting, met Colin.
"Oh there's nothing in Aviemore. Why don't you come sailing on the Clyde?"
And before I knew it, I was waiting for Colin outside of the shop at 7am. A few minutes into driving, he turned to me and said, "forgive me, what is your name?"
And so, by completely happenstance, I went sailing for the first time on a surprisingly temperate first of November. We ate porridge every morning for breakfast and had steak pie and potatoes for lunch out on the tiny deck. I got to steer the boat and tried not to panic when we were almost completely sideways. (They said it's impossible to capsize but..) We saw seals and I read in the sunshine when the wind was calm. I wore as many layers as I could manage and bopped around like a marshmallow. I kept asking myself, "how did I end up here?"
It felt completely random and wonderful, but the more I think about Scotland, the more it makes sense.