I’ve always been one to seek out adventure, to push the envelope in my own way. Or at least I thought I was—living on the edge in my small California bubble. I had responsibilities, though: family, kids, a house, a job. The idea of leaving it all behind for some wild dream? It felt impossible. How was I supposed to chase the adventure I secretly craved?

Then, everything changed during the COVID quarantine. My boyfriend at the time (now husband), Josh, introduced me to YouTube videos about people living full-time on sailboats, traveling the world. We were hooked. It sparked something in us, and we realized this was the adventure we had been looking for. We wanted to live that life, too. The question was—how?

In June 2023, life threw me a curveball. I was laid off from my job, and it felt like the rug was ripped out from under me. The trauma of that moment hit hard, and I knew deep down I didn’t want to go back to working for anyone else. Josh saw it differently. He saw it as an opportunity. He suggested that we take the leap—sell everything and move onto a boat.

It was a huge decision, not one made lightly. I was leaving behind everything I knew: my family, my daughter, my home, my sense of stability. What if I didn’t like it? What if I couldn’t handle the seasickness? We didn’t even know how to sail! We didn’t have the time or money to test it out for a few weeks, either—it was now or never.

Once we committed, though, it was as if the universe aligned. We sold our house the first weekend it was listed, for more than we expected. We found the perfect boat almost immediately, and everything just fell into place. It felt like this was meant to happen, like we were finally on the path we were supposed to be on.

Letting go of our stuff was another emotional hurdle. I was giving away more than just objects; it felt like I was shedding parts of my identity, the life I had built. I kept only a few things—my crystals, my clothes—but hearing what happened to some of my belongings afterward broke my heart. Still, I reminded myself: it’s just stuff. What I was gaining was something far greater.

As we packed our lives into a few bags, the reality of what we were doing started to hit me—and everyone around us—hard. I was leaving behind my daughter, my mom, my sister, my best friend. My excitement was tempered by this deep sadness. I was thrilled to embark on this adventure, but leaving my family behind was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

We went on our last bike ride, we met with friends - for one last hurrah, we saw family, tried to make sure we had everything taken care of and resolved before leaving. 

We set off across the country with our dog, determined to drive rather than fly to make the transition easier on her. Our destination? The British Virgin Islands, where we hoped our new boat awaited us. It was surreal. We had sold our home, our car—everything—but we still hadn’t secured the boat. All we had was hope and the belief that somehow, this would all work out.

And you know what? It did.

Sea U Next Time!