PYRRHO ATARAXIA QUADE IV – Historical Background
Pyrrho (pronounced PIER-oh or PIE-roh for those into fire) is a 5-year-old Australian Shepherd Poodle mix or what I refer to as a Disco Doodle – officially recognized by no association. He is not the fourth iteration and will not reproduce, but given the grandiose name, I figured he needed some legacy. The reason Pyrrho leads Chapter I is the need to enlighten as to my understanding and interpretation of Ataraxia and its origins from Pyrrho, the Greek Philosopher.

Pyrrho, the philosopher, traveled to the East (read the Indian subcontinent) with Alexander the Great around 325 BCE. Apparently, he was introduced to Buddhism and “naked wise men”, or gymnosphists in ancient Greek. He brought back some of those teachings to Greece and the philosophical deliberations grew from there. Pyrrho left no writings, but he is widely regarded as the founder of the “skeptic” school of philosophy. The central beliefs are: reality and truth are unknowable/undefinable; our perception of things is inherently biased and flawed; and therefore one should refrain from judgment. I will not bore you here with the metaphysical versus epistemological interpretations of Pyrrho’s teachings or the difference within the Pyrrhonistic, Epicurean and Stoic derivations of Ataraxia. (If interested see https://lookingforwisdom.com/pyrrho/; https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/pyrrho/) To sum it up: Pyrrho chose a simple life unencumbered by social norms and expectations.

Ataraxia, the ancient Greek teaching, has a few different interpretations depending upon the philosophical line of thought which later adopted the term. For me, the Pyrrhonistic and Stoic philosophies are of particular interest. Stoicism is a more developed and recognized study in today’s world. (Reddit has an interesting sub, if not bit youthful in its focus – r/Stoicism.) Ataraxia, itself, is an aspirational state of being: Of acceptance, of non-judgmentalism, of serenity in the face of whatever may present itself. Ataraxia is much like the teachings advanced in Taoism, Zen, Buddhism, and Wu Wei in Eastern belief systems; and likewise, subject to varying interpretations and practices.

The reason my boat is named Ataraxia is the essence of the term: tranquility. But, even that distillation can be misleading. One will often see the terms “undisturbedness” or “unperturbedness” used to describe the state of Ataraxia, which are perhaps more descriptive, if not awkward to the American ear. In such a state of being one is composed and self-possessed at all times especially in those of turmoil and stress. In my humble opinion, Pyrrho is an animal embodiment of Ataraxia. Pyrrho does not experience the depression of things past or the anxiety of future unknowns. Pyrrho exists in the moment and brings a Winnie-the-Pooh/Tigger energy with him. Because no “practice” is perfect, Pyrrho appears anxious and often excitable, yet he elicits a smile and a sense of comfort – of tranquility – to all those who connect. Pyrrho rarely judges others or situations. While cautious and constantly inhaling the data presented, Pyrrho bounces forward and accepts whatever comes his way.

My practice is striving to be more like Pyrrho, the dog.

THE ACCIDENTAL SAILOR
Before we dive too deeply into the rabbit hole of existential thought or the sailing journey, let us take a step back to the beginning of the next chapter – or how I came to purchase a sailboat. Please be patient with the following biographical narrative. I believe it somewhat necessary to the story and hope it might be entertaining in its absurdity. I am not a sailor. Only having first sailed when I visited Sint Maarten in July of 2022, after placing a large deposit on Ataraxia in December, 2021. I have owned a small power boat, Party Foul, and enjoyed boating, kayaking and white water rafting throughout the years. So, why you may ask, in Dog’s green Earth would you buy a large sailing catamaran that you are clearly unqualified to operate? “Y-Knot”, which coincidentally was supposed to be the original name of the boat.

How I could afford to buy a large sailing yacht is a story which in ways represents a real-world struggle to transform from the fire-breathing Phoenix to the ideal of Ataraxia. I had done okay for myself as a solo attorney, providing my significant other and our three children a comfortable living. The house we occupied was a decent shoe-box rancher in the Old Southwest of Reno where we lived well, albeit growingly cramped. Through a stroke of good fortune I had come into some money from a client in 2011. However, all was not well in paradise. My ex had embezzled thousands of dollars from my dying father and all trust had been lost. No resentment remains at this point as there was a gambling problem, three small children and my difficult self to navigate. It must have been extremely difficult. That understanding, however, was not my mind set at the time. I was betrayed and angry. The destructive deterioration of the relationship was inevitable.

Short version is that, notwithstanding the tenuous personal underpinnings, I bought an almost 5,000-square-foot white stucco McMansion through a generous post Great Recession deal. Having come from poverty, I was bound and determined to have the car, white picket fence, 2.5 children, the dog, the cat and the beautiful wife. No matter that I was too emotionally broken to make any of that idyllic, Leave it to Beaver, family life work. Cue the Talking Heads.

Fast forward to 2021. I was living alone with Pyrrho in the house on the hill, still arm wrestling with my ex and in the middle of a lawsuit with the HOA and my next door neighbors, one of the richest couples in Reno. We are not talking about comfortable living wealth, but generational, ranging into the billions wealth by all reasonable accounts. You see, living next to super-rich people is not all it’s cracked up to be. I swear the wife single-handedly kept the lights on at Amazon with three delivery trucks a day beep-beep-beeping along their private drive in close proximity to my master bedroom and outdoor living space. There were workers at the private gate virtually every morning just to maintain the three-acre property. There was not one blade of grass out of place. Beautiful properties come at a price.

Not to mention the fact the owner is a commercial real estate developer who did major work on the property each year. The aforementioned lawsuit arising from the fact that the neighbors used the far end of my undeveloped property as a construction zone for a large addition and indoor pool on the already sprawling house. Because of the unusual moisture year in 2017, the year-long construction was delayed and my property flooded – perhaps ironically in retrospect. It was of little consequence to them as they would fly their private jet to wherever in order to escape the more intense intrusions. I didn’t have multiple homes or a private jet. What I did have is landscapers, construction workers, heavy equipment, and for a period time a porta-potty, on my property or overlooking my house. Privileged people problems, but annoying nonetheless.

So, being hot headed and pissed off, I used actual fire in the form of pyrotechnics over my neighbor’s house. (Funny Next Door story about the “blue-hair neighborhood patrol” attempting to figure out where the “gunshots” were coming from for over a month.) I also had a large chiminea and a good supply of firewood.

My other neighbors generally liked me or at least tolerated my idiosyncrasies. Plus, my temper tantrums were directed at my problematic neighbors. In short, it escalated into the lawsuit, my property being surveilled and me engaging in some performance antics we will not get into here. Suffice it to say, if being monitored, I might as well give the security detail some entertainment. The fact this was happening was confirmed on more than one occasion when I purposefully made some drunken and vaguely threatening statements while my chiminea blazed and wound up with spot lights in my own back yard.

In October 2021, a year into litigation, my neighbors’ fourth attorney – a litigation peer I have known for decades – invited me to lunch to discuss the case.

“You know my clients are scared of you?”
“Good.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“Yet, taking over 5,000 square feet of my property for their major construction without talking to me first and having their workers essentially in my backyard constantly is okay?”

At which time he essentially concedes they were aware of my antics, in plain view or not, from the only vantage point into my back yard, their property.

“What’s your bottom line, Paul?
X plus X.
“That is unreasonable.”
“Fine, let’s do the trial. I can’t wait to see the jurors’ faces during this ‘actual billionaire fucks over wannabe millionaire case’. It will be fun.”

I believe there was at least a previous implication that being a hard ass was not among my weaknesses?

“What if they buy you out?”
“I would consider it.”
“Let’s look at Zillow”

Interlude – visualize two suits perusing real estate values on mobile phones while drinking wine and eating a seared tuna salad. Ugh.

How about this?
How about this plus a 20% premium?
“Send us over an offer and I will take it to my clients”
“Thanks for lunch, Tom.”

My gambit had worked. The ultimate goal of being bought out without the hassle of selling such a house on the open market had come to fruition. It was no longer a home, but a golden boat anchor. The couple-million dollar sales contract was completed in about two weeks with a 30-day close. The house was sold essentially “as is” with no realtor and only basic inspections. They never even walked into the house. It was chump change to make a problem go away: Me. They actually wanted us out of the home at close of escrow. Seriously. Not only was it a very large house, we had a 1,500 square-foot garage full of half a dozen motorcycles, a woodworking shop and innumerable unfinished projects. Locating a place to live and moving stuff in 30 days would be virtually impossible. Also, trying to find tradesmen to accomplish anything remotely substantial after inspections two weeks later would prove impossible. It was an insane period even with the additional three months I negotiated to rent back the house at $1 a month.

It was at that time I decided not to buy another house. I thought: I had reached the pinnacle of my “hourly-wage” existence by owning the big house on the hill in one of the nicest neighborhoods of my hometown. I had grown up on the other side of the tracks and had “made it.” However, such single-minded focus on keeping up with the Joneses can have its casualties and I never really blended in. My personal life continued to be rocky, at best. My youngest, a 15-year-old son, had not spoken to me in months along with his mother and her daughter – who I helped raise from infancy to nine. My oldest son was coming around, but as with any teenager there were issues. I was totally burnt out in my profession as a criminal defense attorney and, at 50-plus years old, couldn’t find a way to do something I might enjoy while making a reasonable living. I was seriously in the bottle, miserable and a hollow shell of modern American success, in a nice suit.

So, within three weeks of closing the house on December 1, 2021, I put the down payment on Ataraxia. Why not? I am a healthy adventurer who has rock climbed, mountaineered, mountain biked, kayaked and adventure motorcycled all over the Great Basin and beyond. Now, time to turn my focus to the other two-thirds of the planet of which I know next to nothing. I want to travel, hate commercial flying and am taking my dog. I can be a turtle! I just need a shell. Well, not really a turtle. . .yet. Me, believing I can do anything; having grinded the Type-A personality into mastery of whatever I put my mind to; but having failed miserably in implementing those traits into personal happiness. There was also the uncomfortable reality of being a smoldering pile of ashes. Maybe, just maybe, becoming one with water was the solution. A boat presented the added bonus: I get to sail away from my problems. . .* The decision to buy a sailing yacht seemed a foregone conclusion.

Upon exiting the house I largely moved into a travel trailer and cargo containers at my old office building, an 1898 Victorian house converted into office space in downtown Reno – a vast majority of my stuff having been given away. In a few short months, I was transformed into a vagabond who surfed couches for showers, food, dog-sitting and other personal necessities. It was an improvement as I shed years of garbage I once believed made me happy. It was not without trials and tribulations. As one may imagine, abandoning your concrete and almost-realized aspirations for the unknown and indeterminate is challenging. While a common escapist dream of “sailing off into the sunset,” few in my position are willing to actually give it all up. I continue to have my doubts. These doubts manifest(ed) into occasional emotional outbursts. Being water is hard. Pyrrho has continued to take it in stride. Show me the way, Dog.

In any case, I was committed. So I booked a flight to Sint Maarten for July 2022 in order to charter a boat and learn how to actually sail. I had to do something since Ataraxia would be ready to cross the Atlantic in December. As fortune would have it, I loved the island, the water, and sailing experience. The transformation to accidental sailor had begun.