The sail, the play of its pulse so like our own lives:
so thin and yet so full of life,
so noiseless when it labors hardest,
so noisy and impatient when least effective. -Henry David Thoreau
From 1969 to 1977, my parents, aunt, and uncle started, owned, and operated a business in Seattle called Sailboat Headquarters. They sold sailboats and raced them with passion. When we were lucky, we were members of the crew, or at least they made us feel that our actions mattered and that we were a part of something bigger than ourselves. There are so many lessons from these early childhood memories that wash over me as we cross the earth’s oceans, enter new ports, and find our footing.
June is a time of celebrations of many kinds from graduations to weddings, endings, and beginnings. We sometimes sacrifice presence when we arrive at these milestones for the sake of planning the next big thing. This blog is dedicated to our youngest child, Bianca, who is graduating from High School this month and we find ourselves wondering, “How did it get so late so soon?” -Dr. Seuss
SAIL is both an object and an action, a noun and a verb, a dream and a core idea. To us, the definition is constantly evolving as the lines blur and the wind changes on our nomadic journey. We are currently charting a new course as our kids build their own lives and study, work, and volunteer in different countries, as we weigh what makes the most sense moving forward.
One definition of Sail is: To move smoothly and rapidly in a stately or confident manner. To move effortlessly through air or space, as in: They sailed off into the sunset.
Here are some bits of wisdom from the sailors of my childhood days, my first teachers, my family, as I have pieced them together over the years in my mind’s eye. This knowledge has anchored our family on this nomadic voyage, especially when we feel lost or directionless, or in need of a safe harbor.
Progress Isn’t Always Linear
This photo was taken on the day we thought we had secured accommodation for three months, only to arrive and find it was not a real listing. We were near Siena, Italy, and it was in the first few months of our nomadic life. We had no idea which way to turn, so we leaned into the uncertainty, and a beautiful chapter unfolded.
You can’t control the wind, but you can adjust your sails.
Sometimes it is not possible to get from one mark to the next in a direct line. If the desired endpoint is upwind, it is necessary to navigate to an alternative point for a length of time before pointing back to the goal.
Understanding there are things we can’t control and focusing on getting very comfortable with uncertainty, while trusting the path is one of the most valuable things we have practiced in our over a decade of traveling, but also something so easy to forget, and we find ourselves needing to learn it again and again.
Big Things are Measured in Small Increments
Driving 6,000 miles from Cape Cod, Massachusetts, to Baker City, Oregon, as close to the pilgrim path as possible on American scenic byways was a true test of this lesson.
The goal is not to sail the boat but to have the boat sail herself.
One of the biggest lessons we learned from sailing is that the little things matter to achieve the big things. Learning to tie knots properly, reading the wind, and knowing when to tack can be the difference between arriving at your destination, getting stranded, or worse. To be successful, looking up, reading all of the signs, and adjusting the course is crucial for sustainability and longevity on the water and off.
Adaptability Is Essential
After being nomadic for eight years, everything stopped during the pandemic. During that time, we would spread out our map blanket and have living room picnics, where we would talk about foods we had tasted and people we missed. We would plan where we would go when we could wander again, knowing that hope and dreams are such an important part of facing adversity.
A smooth sea never made a skilled sailor.
Sailing is a powerful example of persevering against the odds. It can sometimes feel like the obstacles are insurmountable, and the ocean may just swallow you whole, and that is when the attention to detail and ability to chart a new course are so important. Learning to thrive, even when we feel fear about what is out of our control, is a muscle. Conditions can change rapidly, and our ability to be flexible and responsive is directly tied to how much we practice. Exercising that muscle is critical.
Having a Team is Everything
Meeting the orphans who lived at the Ashram in Indonesia, where we taught English, was celebrated with handshakes before a football (soccer) match. During our time at the Ashram, our kids taught English to small groups, as did we. It was when we truly understood that we were not just a family but a team.
A ship is safe in harbor, but that’s not what ships are for.
Feeling like I was a part of a team at such a young age, with the sea splashing my face as the boom swayed, ignited something inside me that I still carry. The shared experience of maintaining the lines, coordinating the hoisting and dropping of the spinnaker, trimming the mainsheet, navigation, and speed, is a metaphor for all teams and certainly one we have felt as a family. Know the whole system, focus on your role, lend a helping hand, know when you are out of your wheelhouse, and grab someone quickly who knows the ropes.
Embrace the Journey
The biggest shock to our rhythm was when we settled the boys into university in two different cities in a country we had never lived in. It took courage for them to stay and face the uncertainty, and courage for us to drive away. The embrace was special (and so hard) knowing that the act of letting go meant new horizons were in store.
The horizon moves only for those brave enough to keep sailing.
There were many days on the water with my dad and uncle, sometimes sailing, sometimes fishing, sometimes whale watching, and always staying out until just before the day faded into darkness. What I remember most is never returning to port without having seen some new horizon. As we docked and washed the sails, and put the boat to bed, we talked about the bald eagle who got the biggest catch of the day, the previously undiscovered cove, and the sandwich that got soaked by the rogue wave. And I knew then, and I know now, that it is the absolute presence nature inspires that created the moving horizon, ever expanding, always inviting, just one more adventure where everything folds into this precious moment that will soon be a memory.
Lasting Lessons
So many other lessons come flooding back that have shaped our nomadic life… travel light, fair winds and following seas, free the ballast, you have to leave the moorings to test the waters, and so it goes.
I remember most the absolute serenity and the sheer adrenaline, the teamwork and the immensity of the lonely sea, the wind and the sound of the absence of wind, the resonance of a furling sail, and the beating of my awakened heart.
And that, after all, is our business in this world and is much like trying to catch the horizon. It lies a little distance before us, and a little distance behind us, about as far as the eye can carry. One discovers that one has passed through it just as one passed what is today our horizon. One looks back and says. ‘Why, there it is.’ One looks forward and says the same. Joseph Conrad
