I love the ocean. I admire it. But I’m also deeply afraid of it—and sometimes, that fear grips me more than I’d like to admit.
There’s something so powerful, almost incomprehensible, about the ocean’s vastness. The deep, seemingly endless waters, the towering waves that can rise without warning, and the sheer force of a lightning storm cracking over the horizon—it all leaves me in awe. The thought that storms could begin their journey as far as Africa, sweep through the Caribbean, and then make their way to Europe reminds me how connected we all are, through the water, the wind, and the skies.
But what amaze me the most are the creatures that live in this world—a world I’ve only scratched the surface of after two years on the water. Some of these creatures are beyond what I could have imagined in my wildest dreams. And yet, they’re out there, living in a world so deep below us.
Even now, after all this time, I still experience the full range of emotions with every single sail. There are moments of pure, unfiltered joy when the wind is just right, and the boat cuts smoothly through the water. And then, there are the moments of fear, of worry, as the waves rise and my mind races with all the possibilities. But there's also peace—a deep, calming sense of belonging, even in the midst of the unknown.
I don’t think you ever fully get used to it, and I don’t think I want to. The unpredictability is part of what makes the ocean so incredible. Every time I lay my head down to sleep, surrounded by nothing but the endless water, I know that this is where I belong. It’s that mixture of fear, admiration, and respect that makes sleeping on the ocean the most peaceful rest I’ve ever had.
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