“A writers job is to write.” – Fatty Goodlander

I struggle a lot trying to figure out how we’re going to fund our dream to sail south. I don’t doubt that we’ll do it… I just wonder how.

We could keep working for years to bank up enough kitty to be comfortable but every day I grow weary and long for the life of freedom and adventure. I sit at work day in and day out and wonder if cancer or some other evil with catch up to us and stop our dream in its tracks.

I turned 35 this year. How old will I be when I can finally cast off?

Tomorrow may never come, but the courage to cast off with not a dime in our kitty may never come either.

My brain races trying to find ways to bank bucks faster. Invent something? Write books? Maybe a second job? Spend less? Sacrifice more? I worry.

I read the blogs of those already out there travelling and wonder how much they had saved when they left. They never reveal their secrets as if it’s some source of shame to admit they waited until they had a hundred thousand, or left foolishly soon with only ten.

The blue of the southern world calls but the fear of all that can go wrong responds.

I put pen to paper right now, or keys to board as it were to spark some sort of creativity. Some kind of inspiration that will carry me to the world where anything is possible, including shoving off tomorrow, forever into the blue.

How much is enough?

Right now out plan is to leave in two years to the day. We will have thirty thousand and a poorly outfitted vessel. We could leave in one year with fifteen, but when is enough too little? “Go now. Go now” they say. I want to go so badly you can’t imagine the pain.


The boat is livable, the dinghy will hold for a few years. The fridge is cold and bed comfortable. But what will we eat? How will we fix what breaks? Can I turn this writing into food and spares? New rigging or a water maker?

Sadly, it’s off to bed to wake up early and head in exactly the opposite direction my heart calls me toward.

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