This is the captain. I am in awe of his skills. He has a lifetime of sailing experience.

We’ve been sailing on his boat, full-time, for a month. We have at least one more month to go, he says with a smile, pleased that he’s captured me.

For ten years (when not with his loved ones or traveling on land with me), he’s tried to capture me for this purpose. Until recently, I’d successfully fled in the opposite direction (most of the time).

I was afraid to go sailing, though I did my best to join him. Each trip, I was sure I was headed toward death. He feels the same way about driving an auto.

It didn’t help that I envisioned myself in a tiny white clawfoot bathtub, bobbing in the middle of the sea, with no way to save myself. Visualization is powerful and controllable, I now know.

We actually lived aboard his boat for years while it was moored in a marina where he could work long hours during the day and spend time with his loved ones on the weekends.

I loved that he could work hard and remain close to his loved ones. I always support that.

I loved that he could be on his sailboat. He is so blissfully happy while on his boat.

He loved that I was on his boat with him. That made me feel even happier for him.

In fact, he always said that if I ever moved off his boat, he was afraid I would never move back aboard. I completely understand why he felt that way.

It seems challenging, but I actually love living on a boat. I just need a heater in the winter, cool air in the summer, a bathroom, a front-loading washer and dryer, and a safe marina.

Though that’s asking a lot of a 40-year-old sailboat or any marina. They all have their limits. And nowadays it’s nearly impossible to find a marina that allows one to live aboard.

Also, I know nothing about boating, let alone sailing. So I’m always concerned with whether I could save the captain and myself should something happen to him. I want to save us.

Ironically, when I share that concern with other females on boats, they laugh and say they could never save their partner—that their partners are on their own should something go awry!

Hence, I watch the captain like a hawk, trying my best to learn at the crack of dawn, while under the sun of the day, and especially when the clouds loom above.

I’m like this on small planes, too, since I don’t know how to fly. I stare at the captain’s controls as if I could somehow prevent disaster just by paying close enough attention to what he’s doing.

That is, until something scares me and I place my hands over my eyes while repeating “I’m scared, I’m scared.” Yes, we sometimes wonder if I’m on the spectrum.

So the truth is that I literally don’t know what the captain is saying when he talks about sailing. It’s a foreign language to me. I don’t know the terms or commands, let alone the actions they require.

I don’t know how to make a boat sail or stop sailing. I don’t know how to read nautical charts, determine the depth of water in various tides, anchor, pull anchor, or handle all the lines.

And my brain has decided those skills are just a fraction of the skills needed to safely sail a boat, all of which would take years to learn. I truly don’t have time for that.

I have food to stock and prepare; cleaning, organizing, and laundry to tackle; appointments to make; and bills to pay—plus all the things I love to do—and I don’t have time for even that.

The captain has sailed across oceans, but there is still so much more sailing he wants to do.

So I’ve always encouraged him to sail around the world with his buddies, reassuring him I’ll happily meet up with him in each port.

He stares in return, then explains why that’s impossible. One, none of his buddies can go. Two, many of the ports are not easily reachable without a boat. Three, he’s not leaving without me.

I’ve looked into all options in an attempt to work around this.

I could be with him virtually (text and talk when he has cell reception; video call when he has internet). I could take float planes to meet up with him, I say.

I enthusiastically continue to encourage his buddies to join him—to take off for weeks, months, or years of sailing adventures. I am so okay with that.

The worst part is that they all truly dream of this freedom—it’s literally all they talk about—sailboats, sailing, and how fun it would be to sail all over the world together.

I want them to have the fun that is so meaningful to them.

That’s exactly what my cousin chose. His partner is not a sailor. So my cousin sailed off on the adventure of a lifetime, his partner so supportive and happy for him.

Thus, we know it’s possible—and we know everyone truly deserves to live their passion.