Castaway


(by Gwyneth Paltrow)
Tuesday, September 16, 1997

It is a glorious day in New York. One of those perfect prefall days
when the sun is bright but the air is filled with an impending
chill. I wish I could have been out and walking around, but I am
leaving tomorrow ridiculously early and have an inordinate amount
of work to do today. The magazine has been messengering things down
all day, and my very dear assistant Chanda is laying everything
out, organizing, making notes and calls and sending faxes. I can't
think of a better project for her than having me shipped off to a
desert island without communication. I have to make and return 17
(literally) phone calls, pack up the rest of my gear, then shower,
change, and present Harvey and Bob Weinstein with the Lifetime
Achievement Award in Independent Film at the Gotham Awards, which
begin at 6 and it is now 5:54.

Wednesday evening
I've been traveling all day. I managed to fall asleep last night at
around 1 a.m. and was a little bit bitter when the alarm went off
at 4:55. The car was picking me up at 5:15 a.m., so I took a quick
shower, loaded the gear into the car and was driven out to the
airport. I got there far too early and sat around, eyes burning
with too little sleep, and tried to keep an open mind about what
lies ahead. Stopped in Miami, boarded the second plane, had some
lunch and a Bloody Mary, and landed in Belize. The location man
picked me up and took me to lunch. We sat right on the water in an
open-air room and had some fresh fish. We boarded a high-speed boat
and began the 3 1/2-hour journey to the sailboat. The sea was
extremely rough. The edge of a hurricane was passing and the sky
was dark and the water seemed angry. It thrashed us around--up and
out of the water, smashing back down for what seemed like an
eternity. I was overjoyed to see the sailboat in the distance.
Captain Hank greeted us and welcomed us aboard the Sunyata, a
beautiful 55-foot sailboat, where I write now. I'm feeling a bit
seasick after the speedboat, and I can't say that the rhythmical
motion of this boat is helping. I am very, very far from home and
I have no idea what lies in store or how I will react.

Thursday
It is Thursday morning. Today is the day. I slept up on deck last
night after having pasta with fresh lobster and shrimp. I overcame
my nausea and feel fast asleep in the open air, aided by the gentle
rocking. I awoke in the middle of the night, however, in the midst
of a huge tropical storm, soaked to the bone. By some miracle, I
went back to sleep, enjoying the wind and the wetness and the sea
air. I woke up early and we all had coffee and pancakes, and I
smoked what I hope will be my very last cigarette ever. We loaded
the dinghy and headed out to my little island where I now write. It
is about 250 feet by 75 feet and in the middle of nowhere. Its only
neighbors are two smaller uninhabited islands on each side. There
are wildflowers and coconut trees and that's about it.

I spent a few hours setting up. I stripped the leaves from some
palm branches with my hunting knife and used the branches to
construct a hut. Using the kite string, I tied them together in an
A-frame shape, and managed to give myself serious rope burns in the
process. then I laid my tarp over the frame and buried the edges in
the sand and laid big palm fronds over it to weigh it down. I hung
up my hammock and my clothesline, and then I rested.

Friday morning
Yesterday, in what seemed like the early afternoon (I have no
watch), I started to build my fire just to make sure I wouldn't
have any difficulty later. It was a good thing, too, because it
took me much longer than I anticipated. I found a little bit of
driftwood, but mostly dampish coconut husks, which really smoke as
opposed to burn. I opened a coconut to use the water to make the
rice. Now, in a store, a coconut does not come encased in the thick
husk that it does in nature. To open the coconuts, I have to bash
them on a sharp stick and peel the husks off. Then I use the
corkscrew on my Swiss Army knife to pop a hole in it. After
laboring for several hours, a pot of rice has never tasted so good.
I ate it up, took a sunset swim, and crawled into my hut for the
first night's sleep. During the night it poured rain and the wind
was fierce. I felt as if I could feel the whole sky swirling around
me, enveloping me in my tiny hut in my tiny new existence. It is
very surreal to be without human contact. I am going deeper and
deeper into my thoughts and mind, which is far more daunting than
my cuts and bug bites or any storm.

I just went swimming and came face-to-face with a black-tip shark.
Slightly intense.

Saturday morning
I woke up thinking about France today. The spring and summer I
spent there when I was 21. Long afternoons in cafes, the apartment
on St. Sulpice, writing for hours. It is a time in my life that I
look back on with such fondness. I was so free and alive. Everybody
came to visit. Sometimes I wish I could go back there and live that
time again.

Later
I have brought so few things with me. Everything, every single
possession I deem valuable, is in New York. All I need down here
is the tarp to keep the rain off, food, and a tank top and
sweatpants. It is amazing to think about all of the THINGS we
accumulate and place such import on. If you feel too bound to your
possessions, you should free yourself from them. Give away the
things you are most attached to. You will see that you never really
needed them. We are too tied to things. Things are not necessary.
The truth is necessary. things are not necessary in a mirrorless
world.

A little crab just crawled of the sand and looked at me all crazy
and sideways. He's gone now. Down in his hole.

I cleared my throat and the noise startled me. I don't know how
many hours it's been since I've spoken. Maybe I'll talk to myself a
bit. I just gathered some firewood for tonight's supper. I pray
that it doesn't storm tonight like it did last night and the night
before. I am very sore from sleeping on what must be the hardest
sand in the free world. I actually have bruises from sleeping on my
side. My left hip bone is bruised and very sore, so tonight I'll
have to work out something better.

My mind takes me in a new direction every few minutes. Yesterday,
after spending the day setting up and resting, swimming and
snorkeling, I knelt down to light my fire and was overcome with
emotion. Out of nowhere I started crying large, hot tears. Lots of
things were going through my mind. Life things, love things. For a
moment, sitting by my fire, I felt lonelier than I ever had in my
life. It was the sharpest, most deeply resonating pang of
loneliness. I just sat there crying, embracing the feeling instead
of trying to talk myself out of it. I think that's something we
all do and shouldn't. I think when we experience emotion we should
delve into it and live through. We are always trying to shut off
pain or control our happiness. Why? To live is to feel. So I sat
there and let go. And when I stopped, I felt really strong and
centered and quiet. I was able to look at things with a better
perspective.

I've been naked all day. It is really nice. It connect you to
nature. And I'm positive there are no paparazzi out there. Not
that I'd put it past them. My company are the birds and fish and
ants and crabs. An occasional boat goes by in the distance. I can
see Honduras out over the water. It is very far away but I can
make out the line where the sky and mountains part.

I just lay in the crystal clear turquoise water and let the very
gentle waves push me around for a while. Being out here makes me
realize how tiny we actually are. How insignificant. I want to
learn to live with a pure heart. Live with the optimism you feel
when your innocence comes surging back to you every now and then.
I want to live clean and I want to live deep. I am a person who
likes to be alone and I am a person who loves to be with good
people. A little bit of everything. The pelicans are diving for
fish now, which means I should start my fire shortly.

Saturday morning [(I think she meant Sunday morning, but hey,
she's a first editor)]
Last night was a complete paradox. Absolute calm and wicked
intensity. You could really unravel out here. There were moments
when everything was hyper-real. The sunset was too colorful, the
smell of the air too potent. Everything in such sharp focus.

I got a good fire going last night. Much quicker on the start,
hotter-burning and longer-lasting. I made my rice with fresh
coconut milk, sliced my onion soaked in fresh lemon juice and
grilled it over the fire. The rice was good. A bit sweet from
the coconut. Reminiscent of rice pudding. I cleaned up from
dinner, and tried to clean myself up as best I could. I am as
dirty as I've ever been. I'm all cut up and bitten and grimy,
but I don't mind at all. I actually like it. Not being concerned
with myself. It's liberating.

The sun began to set, so I thought I'd settle into my hut and
make sure I knew where everything was when it got dark. I had
the large knife on one side, flashlight on the other. The light
outside was so soft. Like the sun was still at high noon but
someone had turned down the intensity. I came out and wrote some
letters until it was almost too dark to see. Letters I will never
send. That will stay with me as a reminder of where I was in time
and space. The sun sets at around 6 p.m. these days, so I must
have been asleep by 7.

Trouble is, I woke up in the middle of the night, absolutely
awake. I got up and lay in the hammock for a while. It was so
beautiful. The moon was bright and there was a gentle breeze
that rocked me. I watched the stars move across the sky. I felt
thankful for my life and my good fortune. I felt thankful, so
very thankful, for my family whoa re with me through anything. I
felt thankful that I am growing up. A friend of mine once said
that we should live to love the people we love, not live to be
loved by them. It is true. I finally went back inside when the
wind really started to kick in and I felt a drop of rain. I tried
to go back to sleep for several hours. Now let me just reiterate
how wildly uncomfortable the ground is. It is harder than
concrete. I spent around two hours trying to get comfortable and
then I fell fast asleep to the sound of torrential rain on the
tarp. I woke up to the birds chirping and a glowing orange and
pink sunrise. It was offset by dark gray rain clouds around it
that made the orange look on fire. It is my last day. I started
packing up to get back on the sailboat. I wonder how I'll feel
then I reach land and have a shower and a meal.

Well, I'm off the island and happily on the sailboat, where I've
just had a fresh lobster pasta salad and the best ice-cold beer
I've ever tasted. We are gently moving toward Placencia, on the
coast of Belize, where we will spend the night. It is so
beautiful. I still have not showered or cleaned up at all. Just
hosed myself down on deck. The sunscreen I just put on is giving
me a strong smell sense memory--transporting me to different
times. It's funny how something as simple as simple as a smell
can so firmly put you in another life for a while.

Sunday
I have learned a lot on this trip. I have learned that I am
stronger than I thought. I am braver than I thought. I have
understood better that although I am good I am flawed, as we all
are. I have realized that we must be kind to ourselves on life's
journey because at the very end of the day, all we have is
ourselves. All we ever know we have is ourselves. We must relish
that and find safety in that.

Today I'm traveling back to New York. Back to the city. Back to
my life and all of its facets. I understand, right now, as I sit
on the end of this deck, why people come down to the Caribbean
and never go home. There is a beautiful simplicity in the way one
lives here. The ocean is so soothing, so healing. I haven't
missed many things or many people, but the people I've missed,
I've missed a lot.

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What [she] was allowed to bring:

notebook and pens
Swiss army knife
hunting knife
bottled water (emergency)
aspirin and iodine
mosquito netting
flashlight w/ extra batteries
1 blue all-weather tarp
1 lb. of rice
3 oranges, an onion, a lemon, and 2 carrots
1 pot
candles and lantern
water-purifying kit
mosquito repellent
high-spf sunblock
1 blanket
hammock
string
fishing hooks
nylon line
matches
camera and film



What [she] couldn't bring:
books
soap
toothbrush
brush
comb
mirror
toilet paper
music
towel
pillow