Bump it Into Gear.

Five other women were in the captain's course with me, and I figured the more times I watched someone else maneuver the boat, the better prepared I'd be when it was my turn.

And, hopefully, I wouldn't screw it up.

The captain had other plans.

Guess who she called to take the helm first?

Yup, ME?😲 So much for going last!

I signed up for a course called "She's the Captain," designed for women and taught by a female captain. MJM sponsored it, and it was hosted in New Bern, NC (my old stomping grounds).

I've spent a lot of time on boats. I understand the basics. I've taken the helm plenty of times, but I'm usually the first mate. My husband, Todd, is the captain.

Todd has always wanted me to learn to take the helm confidently. But somehow, we were always learning a new boat, and even though I've docked our various boats a handful of times—some successfully and some not so much—it's safe to say I lacked confidence in close-quarters maneuvering and docking.

And that's what this class was all about. Taking the helm and maneuvering around other boats docked close by, while accounting for wind, current, and lots of people watching what you're doing.

The captain started us in the classroom, then took us out on a brand-new 38-foot MJM with twin outboards.

Some of what she covered wasn't new to me. But one analogy, as silly as it may sound, really landed.

To turn the boat to port without using the steering wheel, think about turning a shopping cart. If you want the cart to turn left, your right hand pushes forward while your left hand pulls back.

Same idea with the engines. Bump the starboard engine forward. Bump the port engine in reverse. And the boat turns to port.

I never knew you could point the engines in different directions like that — not unless you were using a joystick, and I'd never done that either.

Once on board, I planted myself right next to her, absorbing everything she was laying down. If I was going to go last, I wanted to see everything she did before it was my turn.

Before we moved an inch, she checked the engines, bow thruster, and joystick to make sure everything we might need actually worked. Then she pulled us away from the dock.

That's when she taught us to slow everything down by bumping one engine into gear and then immediately putting it back to neutral.

Then she told us to simply watch what happened next.

What's the wind doing?

What's the current doing?

Where is the boat moving on its own?

Adjust.

She did it again, bumped the engine, went back to neutral, and told us to watch.

She pointed out the flags. Things floating in the water. Which direction they were drifting, and how fast.

She was teaching us how to read the wind and current.

Bless his soul, my husband has patiently tried to explain this to me more times than I can count. But this time, standing beside her and watching the boat respond to every small move she made, it finally clicked.

I wasn't just learning which control to use. I was finally beginning to understand what the boat was doing — and why.

Then it was time for one of us to take the helm, and despite my request, I was up.

Off I went, very slowly.

And I have to give the captain credit. She was AMAZING. Maybe it was her fun personality, or maybe it was how incredibly calm, cool, collected, and—most importantly—patient she was.

Whatever it was, I wanted her in my ear.

She gave calm commands.

"Bump the starboard engine forward." I did.

"Neutral." I did, but the boat kept moving.

"Now watch what she does."

It was the first time, at the helm, that my choices felt intuitive.

I didn't goose the throttle. I didn't hit anything. And somewhere during all that bumping, neutral, and watching, something unexpected happened.

I was beginning to anticipate what the boat needed.

She would start telling me what to do next—and I could already see it. I'd start reaching for the control, and she'd say,

"Yes. Do that."

I was surprised.

And, yes, pretty damn proud of myself.

When I finished, everyone cheered, and a few of the women laughed, saying they didn't want to go after me.

But what stayed with me wasn't that I had done well.

It was how different I felt at the helm.

More confident.

Not because someone had told me I was capable.

Because I'd just experienced myself being capable.

There's a difference.

I've always believed you learn by doing, but believing that and behaving that way aren't the same.

Plenty of times, I've wanted to understand something before I tried it. Or wanted to feel confident before I did the thing that scared me.

But that afternoon on the boat, the order was reversed.

I didn't become confident and then maneuver the boat.

I maneuvered the boat — and that gave me confidence.

Maybe that's how it works more often than I realize.

I think I need to know exactly where I'm going before I start.

I want to figure out the business plan before I execute.

The next career move decided.

I want enough information to know I'm making the right decision before I decide.

But sometimes you can't think your way there.

Sometimes you have to bump it into gear.

See what happens.

Go back to neutral.

Pay attention to the wind and the current.

Then make the next move.

I'm learning French—and soon, I'll have to stop listening to French lessons and actually start speaking it myself - and to other people!

I'm rebuilding my strength as I head toward 60 — and no amount of reading or watching reels will build either. Taking action will.

And I'm still figuring out what I want this next chapter of my professional life to look like.

I don't know where that's going yet.

And maybe I don't need to.

I'll bump it into gear.

Back to neutral.

And see what happens.