Sober on the Far Side of Sailing: Day 2,139

Evening falls over the anchorage — guitars on the beach, a bonfire blazing, laughter drifting across the water from cockpit to cockpit, and the faint sound of bottles clinking. It’s a scene that repeats itself on every island, every coast — the rhythm of the cruising life.

Back then, I didn’t know it yet, but this was the world I was searching for — that sense of ease, of belonging, of being at peace in my own skin. I used to see people like that and wonder how they found it. How do they make life look so effortless while mine felt like drowning on dry land?

For twenty-five years, I lived in a cycle of addiction, depression, and self-destruction — the kind of slow unraveling that sneaks up on you one bad habit at a time. After one particularly dark stretch, I found myself holed up at the crib for weeks, shades drawn, surrounded only by the echo of my own thoughts, replaying the same broken line: Tomorrow I’ll get my life together.

But tomorrow never came — until one night, half-awake, I saw an ad online for sailing lessons.

A friend had invited me to film a boat delivery from Greece to Florida a few months earlier. Maybe I could? The ad hit the right nerve at the right moment. Something about the photo — maybe it reminded me of playing on my papa’s Cape Dory when I was young — made me think, “Maybe I need that.” So the next morning I dragged myself out of bed, one foot at a time, throwing myself forward with nothing but momentum and sheer willpower keeping me upright.

And the second I stepped on that boat — click. The world shifted. The hull moved under me, the sun on my face, the salt hit my nose, and suddenly I could breathe again. Once we cleared the dock, the breeze flowed, the water lapped across the hull, the freedom — I got goosebumps. It was visceral. I needed this in my life permanently.

AA talks about finding a higher power. I’ve never been much for dogma — but out on the ocean? You want humility? Try sailing through a squall blowing 45 knots at 3 a.m., swell up to your spreaders, lightning overhead like Zeus is throwing a rave. Mother Nature will show you exactly how small you are — and in that smallness, there’s grace — there’s surrender — there’s recovery.

As I got deeper into sailing — racing, passage making, circumnavigating — I realized something profound: the ocean gives you purpose through hardship. Every reward comes wrapped in salt and sweat. You earn your peace one wave at a time. And in those moments — at the helm, autopilot humming, sun melting into the horizon, a billion stars overhead — everything else falls away. That’s what I call the “singularity of thought.” Trivial problems simply fade — the job, the bills, the mental chatter, whatever drains you — gone. Just wind, water, and wonder.

Sobriety did not shrink my world — it expanded it. The boat became my sanctuary, the sea became my therapist and doctor’s office. The ocean saved my life! I like to say I traded the bottle for a bilge pump, and honestly, I’ve never been happier in my entire life. The only sad part is it took me 45 years to find it.

I’ll end this with one final thought — a small offering for anyone who’s walking through their own storms the way I once did. I firmly believe everything in life happens for a reason. Remove one decision from my past, good or bad, and who knows where I’d be. Every twist and turn led me to this beautiful place where I am today, just finishing my first circumnavigation. The important part is it all starts with that first step — and then the next....

Fair Winds, My Friends!

Days Sober: 2,139

#mentalhealthmonday #sailing #circumnavigating