FROM THE OUTSIDE LOOKING IN

By Mike Benjamin, SV Exodus, President SDSA

Ronna and I recently arrived at a Caribbean island where there weren’t very many Salty Dawgs around.  That isn’t unusual, especially early in the season.  Our community is widespread, and we don’t always arrive in packs.  Still, after 8 years of live-aboard cruising, we have grown accustomed to eventually spotting the familiar blue burgee, or a boat we’ve seen at another anchorage.  This time, not so much.  We didn’t know anyone and no one knew us, which occasionally is ok and even desirable.

However, we had also arrived at a place with an established cruising community, and we realized, fairly quickly, that we were on the outside.

There was clearly a close-knit social group already in place.  They gathered regularly, held events, and seemed to enjoy one another’s company.  We tried, politely and genuinely, to engage; smiling, showing up, doing all the things we usually encourage others to do.  But the way the events were structured made it difficult to break in.  Invitations seemed assumed rather than extended.  And slowly, a feeling crept in that we don’t often experience while cruising: we felt unwelcome, alone, and surprisingly invisible.  (We all have our insecurities.)  It turns out that even years of cruising experience don’t grant automatic entry into every happy hour.  So, Ronna and I did what we do, we approached a few boats outside of the events and made friends through our own initiative.  All good.

But I was still troubled by earlier events.  The feeling of being an outsider caught me off guard.  As Salty Dawgs, many of us are accustomed to an immediate sense of belonging, with open invitations, shared tables, dock conversations, and the easy shorthand that comes with a common culture.  We show up, we talk about boats and repairs or a recent passage, we compare notes, and before long we’re part of the fabric.  Sometimes without even realizing how easy that process has become for us.  When that sense of connection is missing, you notice it quickly.  And you miss it. 

What struck me most was that this wasn’t about bad intentions.  The people I encountered weren’t unkind.  They were simply comfortable, comfortable enough not to notice who wasn’t included.  And in that realization, my focus shifted from them to me and to the Dawgs.  It made me wonder how often I might have been part of a Salty Dawg group that felt welcoming from the inside, but impenetrable from the outside, without ever meaning to be.  I’m fairly sure the answer is: more than once.  This was a wake-up call.

Strong communities don’t just exist; they are formed and sustained through conscious effort and small, often unremarkable gestures.  An introduction, a smile, an invitation, a chair pulled up to a table.  Without those actions and situational awareness, even well-meaning groups can appear closed or cliquey, especially to someone new, who may already be navigating unfamiliar waters, both literally and figuratively.

 This experience was a valuable reminder.  As Salty Dawgs, we take pride in being welcoming, supportive, and generous with our experience.  But those qualities aren’t automatic.  They require active intention.  Not to recruit, not to grow membership numbers, but simply because this cruising life can be lonely at times, and because expanding your circle often enriches your own experience as much as it helps someone else.

Wherever you find yourself this season, at an event, in a crowded anchorage or in a quiet corner of the Caribbean, look around.  See who might be standing just outside your circle.  A small welcoming gesture can mean everything.  It can also change the shape of your own community in ways you may not expect.

From the outside looking in, I know it would have changed mine.

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