The "Fast Lap" to Forever

On this, my 1,335th day of sailing around the world, I had a thought that made me laugh out loud: my original timeline for this trip. What I thought would be a small piece of my story has turned into a saga stretching toward forever, and somehow that makes perfect sense.

The daydreaming plan was simple: blast around the world nonstop — a “fast lap,” a one-and-done adventure I could tuck neatly onto my life résumé — and call it finished. Not careless, not clueless — just focused on the horizon like a horse with blinders, convinced the only prize was at the finish line. Six months to a year at sea, ignorant to any of the logistics. The charm of it was in its audacity — like deciding to sprint a marathon in flip-flops just to prove you could.

Once I started digging into the details, though, my "fast lap” plan collapsed faster than a cheap beach chair. I wanted to actually see a bit of the world along the way — but like most humans my world geography skills were about as sharp as a soggy paper map. Fortunately, I stumbled into a pack of weather-worn, grinning sailors who’d already unlocked the secrets. They whipped out photos like smug magicians pulling rabbits out of hats — turquoise lagoons, volcano silhouettes, waterfalls draped like lace curtains. "I want to go there!" I shouted, jaw unhinged with envy. "Where is there?" And just like that, my world geography improved ten fold and my tidy six-month lap stretched into “two, maybe two and a half years,” and I couldn’t have been happier about it.

Cut to Fiji six months later: I’d blasted through Mexico, French Polynesia, American Samoa, and Samoa, chest puffed with progress, with so many experiences behind me and beauty in the rearview, certain I was crushing it. But the chorus from every cockpit and anchorage I zipped through was deafening: slow down, this isn’t a race. I have since learned that “race” is a very subjective word out here. You’re skipping so much good stuff!

So my plan mutated again, this time from my “augmented fast lap” to the more common “visa-burner plan.” Stay as long as the stamps allow. Wait for the right weather window. Dance between hurricane seasons like a kid dodging jump ropes on the playground. At three to four years, all of those factors somehow line up quite well. It keeps the boat moving at a good pace but with a ton of amazing stops along the way — like a playlist where every track is a hit.

Now, after 28 countries and over 40,000 miles, about four years at sea, three oceans, and one big detour around Africa, I’ve collected a treasure chest of moments — some terrifying, most astonishing, all unforgettable. And here in Panama, I can see it clearly: this was never a finish-line race. This is the Lifetime Plan.

The point is, some race it, some rally it, some drift into decades — and four years later, with a beard smelling like diesel and coconuts, I can tell you: it’s not just a journey, it’s a whole world within a world — and the absurdity of chasing it is exactly what makes it worth doing.