Look, I’m not dense. I’ve thought this through and I’m rather sure of how it plays out. Although I may think of myself as the adventurous type—the kind of guy that is willing and able to cast off dock lines, pointing the bow of his ship towards the expanse of the horizon to cross oceans, in my bones I know this is not true. It was a sad day when I realized this, and although I’m not completely friendly to the realization, perhaps one day complete acceptance will come.
I’ve spent many evenings reading by my bedside lamp the tales of the Pardeys, Hiscocks, and other world travelers who have set out to cross oceans in their little boats. I have lived vicariously through their written words and felt in my heart that one day that would be my family and me. I have read books on outfitting one’s boat for offshore cruising. I even borrowed my friend’s sextant to learn celestial navigation because when sailing across oceans one should never rely solely on GPS. I’ve pored through books on boat shapes, keel designs, and interior layouts that will make for the best offshore boat. I’ve even scoured online brokerages looking at which boats are for sale and imagined how they would perform as offshore cruisers. In my mind’s eye I can see what the interior will look like, how the glow of the polished teak and the warm hues cast by the brass paraffin lanterns would announce to all that board her that this is the home of a world traveler—someone who is daring enough to trade it all in for a chance to see the world.
I can imagine warm breezes pushing our boat along the open sea as we cruise the trade winds across the Atlantic, heading towards the Azores and exotic ports nestled somewhere in the Mediterranean. I look up and see a billion stars emblazoned in the night sky, a luminary feast for the eyes that is only matched by the bioluminescence in the bow waves made as the boat stirs up little sea creatures. The glowing wake tracing our path in the pitch black sea creates the illusion that we are riding silently on the northern lights. The scene is heaven and the call is enticing—the siren’s song.
But, the cold, hard, crushing truth is it isn’t going to happen. I have a mortgage to pay, kids to put through college, food to put on the table. I have my own retirement to plan for—and that’s assuming that retirement is actually feasible anymore. I have parents who are aging before my eyes and will require my assistance in a few years. Heck, I’m aging before my own eyes—faster than I ever thought possible—and as I see myself 10 or 15 years down the road I imagine what will I really be willing to do? What will I really be physically and mentally capable of doing? And perhaps more importantly, what kind of life would I be coming back to if I stepped away from it all? Looking back, it seems that when one is young and unencumbered it is so much easier to cast off. But, as I recall, at that time I was too focused on building a career and trying to scratch together twenty bucks so I could fill the gas tank and grab a drink or two with the guys.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Small Craft Advisor to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.