Well, actually, says Linda Greenlaw, the nationally renowned (and only female) swordfish-boat skipper, what’s worse is driving that boat at night: “Everything seems more dramatic in the dark, when you can’t see the next nasty wave and brace yourself. In the dark, you can hear and feel the reality, but the visual horror is left to the imagination.” But, she posits, what’s even more terrifying? Becoming, at the age of 46, the mother of a troubled 15-year-old girl: “Like, holy —! Give me a little storm anytime!” Greenlaw was catapulted from obscurity by Sebastian Junger in his 1997 book, The Perfect Storm, in which he describes her as “the best captain, period, on the entire East Coast.” She was captain of the Hannah Boden and the last person to make contact with the ship Andrea Gail, which was lost at sea, its six crew members killed, in the infamous 1991 Halloween Gale. (Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio played her in the film version of the book.) Greenlaw not only survived the storm but continued to pursue her first love, chasing swordfish, heading out for 30-day stretches of bone-wearying 20-hour workdays, luring her elusive prey (she describes swordfish as “like unicorns, only real”), and managing misfit crews of oddballs, drunks, and the occasional drug addict. Closer to shore, Greenlaw could be found trolling for lobster, halibut, and herring and digging for clams in the area surrounding her home on the rugged yet peaceful enclave of Isle au Haut, a tiny island off the coast of Maine (winter population: 50). She also published eight books (nonfiction and mysteries) and, in her memoir-infused stories, occasionally lamented her unmarried, childless state. (One sister called one of her books a 260-page personal ad.) All that changed in late August 2006 with an early morning phone call from a near-hysterical close family friend. The 15-year-old niece of a newcomer to the island had burst into their house the previous evening, crying uncontrollably, saying she didn’t want to go back home to her uncle. What residents of the island slowly uncovered was a horror story of alcoholism, child abuse, and Internet pornography. They came together as a community to protect Mariah (not her real name)—and nominated Greenlaw to be her legal guardian. [pagebreak] Thirty years at the helm had not prepared Greenlaw for this role. “How will we do this?” Mariah asked her at one point. “I have no idea,” Greenlaw responded. “But if it’s something you want to happen, it will happen.” Such bold, encouraging sentiments were, in quieter moments, overwhelmed by waves of second thoughts. In her life up to that point, Greenlaw had answered to no one. “I did what I wanted when I wanted. Plus, with anything that I ever pursue in my life, if I’m not immediately good at it, I drop it,” she admits. “With the role of mother, I was nervous about whether I was going to be good or not—and that’s not something you can just dump.” There were incidents that threw her for a loop: How do you respond when your kid racks up a $500 texting phone bill; brings her packet of birth control pills to the dinner table when there are guests; has a vocabulary consisting of the words lame, stupid, and hate; and, most disturbing, doesn’t seem to like herself? Greenlaw’s tight-knit family, always supportive and loving, wondered aloud whether she was up to the task. Mariah, surly in a typically teenage way, had also been traumatized and would require a lot of unconditional love and support to help her heal. “She needs me,” Greenlaw responded, adding—with a sudden, profound realization—“I need her. I have lived a very selfish life so far.” The wary dance of two tough, spirited women—one set in her ways, one looking to set her life’s course—that resulted in their opening their hearts to each other by slivers over the course of 5 years is the emotional core of Greenlaw’s newest book, Lifesaving Lessons: Notes from an Accidental Mother. (Have tissues handy when you get to the last sentence.) Relinquishing solitude “to worry about whether someone is hungry or cold or tired feels good, if different,” says Greenlaw, now 52. “The imposition has turned into a happy surprise, though I’d be lying if I said there weren’t times I’m annoyed she’s screwing up my schedule.” Greenlaw no longer heads out to sea for months at a time. (She also recently married for the first time.) Does her heart miss the ocean, her first love? “I don’t miss it, because I still spend a great deal of time on the ocean—I live on an island,” she says. “I don’t miss being away for 30 days at a time, I don’t miss being 1,000 miles from the nearest dock in hurricane season. Do I miss the challenge of catching swordfish? Yeah, but it’s replaced by the challenge of raising a daughter. They are sources of equal happiness; one doesn’t replace the other. There’s room in the heart for many things!” Here, Greenlaw shares her life lessons. [pagebreak] How we define ourselves changes over time. When I began fishing at the age of 19, I was told that all I needed was a strong back and a weak mind. That proved to be true for many years. At age 47, I started to understand that I had a stronger mind and a weaker back. I began to realize that I was not the feisty young captain of my past. The renegade in me had faded—Jimmy Buffett, step aside! This pirate was looking at 50! I had always been confident beyond reason, and maybe now it was healthier to be wiser, more mature, and less confident. Which posed a question: Did the ways that I defined success and myself need to change? The standard by which I measured my own worthiness had grown beyond “seaworthy.” One of the most unanticipated pleasures with Mariah has been having someone refer to me as her mother. I couldn’t love her any more if she were my own flesh and blood. I am now “we,” and we are great! A few years ago, I was giving a talk at the Explorers Club in New York City, and a stodgy old guy stood up to comment about my crew calling me Ma—how it was terrible; no self-respecting officer would ever let her crew call her that. I told him, “I don’t know where you come from, but in my world, ‘Ma,’ ‘Mother,’ ‘Mom’ are all said with the highest regard.” I was not insulted at all that my crew called me Ma; in fact, I was flattered. What kind of world is that, where you’re insulted by being referred to as Ma? There’s no one I would show more respect to than my mother. And I am Mariah’s mother—“captain” be damned! Courage comes in many unexpected forms. Up until the death of my older sister [Rhonda] last year, if you would have asked me about courage or being courageous, I probably would have had a different image in my mind. I suppose that I had always considered courage to be choosing to risk your own life for the sake of someone else—the way soldiers, firefighters, Coast Guardsmen working search and rescue do. It certainly wouldn’t have been of someone lying on their deathbed. Rhonda faced her own death for 8 months. Inoperable pancreatic cancer is not something that leaves many survivors. She was never bitter or pissed off. When she was down to a few hours, she refused morphine until we had all had time to say our final farewells. She apologized to our parents for putting them through the pain of watching her die. I still remember what she said to me: “We’re good. No deathbed confessions or apologies. Nothing to mend. We’re good. Thanks.” Death changes your perspective on a lot of things—maybe even how we choose to live. [pagebreak] Course correction is the one constant in life. My idea for a title for my latest book, and I still stand by it, was a navigational term, Course Made Good. You’re going from point A to point B, you have a goal, you have a destination in mind, but tides, currents, and winds can upset your course, and you have to adjust. You’re still heading for the same goal—say, due north of your present position—but you have to make adjustments, tweak your original course, steer 90 degrees northeast to get there. Taking it from the navigational to the personal, we all have to course correct to reach our destination or goal. You still get to your destination, but perhaps not in the same way you had originally intended. Some of your best adventures don’t happen at sea—they happen at home. I’ve led what anyone would call an adventurous life, chock-full of colorful characters and white-knuckle experiences. But I discovered there are also ways of opening up and expanding your world closer to home. I got to the point where too many miles of sea lay between my home on Isle au Haut and myself. Those same miles that I had sometimes regarded as a buffer zone began at some point to feel like a barricade. And even adventures themselves can become routine. Maybe having a daughter—a teenager—late in life and having that be a very positive move opened me up to other major changes. I wanted what I had growing up—I had a very happy childhood—and I never dreamed that I wouldn’t be married with kids. But then the life that I chose, offshore fishing, wasn’t conducive to that happening. But at any point in your life, things can change—and you’re capable of changing. Perfect example: I got married at the age of 51. It was the same thing with having a family—I hadn’t really given up on it, but it wasn’t something I was planning. Now I’m happily married with a daughter. My husband, who has never been in any of my books, is Steve Wessel, and he builds boats in Surry, ME. I delivered a boat for a friend there in January 2012 to get some work done on it. Steve was rowing me ashore, and while I wouldn’t quite say it was love at first sight, there was definitely a connection, an attraction. I knew there was something! We fell in love, and last September, 8 months later, we got married. We’ll live happily ever after! More from Prevention: 6 Best Things About Being A Mom
