How to practice gratitude to yourself for pushing past the comfort zone
Sailing my boat from Barcelona to Mexico in three months is probably the hardest mental challenge I've put myself through. And I am so grateful for it.
The men at Isla Beata didn’t want us to leave, but we were in a rush to reach Mexico by early March. With patchy winds, we were limited in terms of deciding when to set sail. From the Dominican Republic, there are about 900 nautical miles to Isla Mujeres, or six days of sailing. If we waited until the morning, we would lose a day of going by sail, as the trade winds were subsiding, and we already knew that we would have to sail parts of the leg by engine.
Falkor can manage two, maybe three days of motorsailing, but not six. Even with all our jerrycans filled to the brink. So we had to make pit stops in Jamaica and the Caimán Islands to get fuel. We did not, however, want to go through the tedious process of migration on either island, as this could easily imply a day’s worth of paperwork, and the solution was to avoid the marine fuel pumps, use our paddleboards to bring the jerrycans to land, and fill them at a regular gas station.
Our brief stop in Jamaica after two days of sailing gave us a semblance of rest, from the constant rocking of the boat—especially since the island sheltered us from the swells and the winds had come to a halt. We anchored up in two separate bays in our search for fuel, and had time to eat pancakes and jump in the water before we charged on, full speed ahead.
I spent most of the time navigating a rollercoaster of emotions: exhaustion and regret—sailing across the Caribbean was proving to be mostly a marathonic challenge rather than the joyful adventure I had expected. But I also felt gratitude towards myself for not giving up, for having made it all this way, for moving forward even if it was hard AF.
After two days of motorsailing, we reach the Cayman Islands. My resilience was battered and bruised after three months of relentless pushing, and based on past experiences and near accidents, I decided that in my state of exhaustion, we best avoid the reef system that surrounds the island altogether. Instead, we anchored in a sheltered cove on the west coast—a few hundred yards from a gas station.
We spent exactly two hours on the island, just enough to encounter a friendly local man who greeted us as we landed on the beach and said just what I needed to hear in that moment: he had been a pilot for ten years, and captain of a ship for another ten. “Travelling by sea is much better than travelling by air,” he explained. “When you travel by sea you gain stories, and in the end, that’s what we are here on Earth for.” “You must have been sent to me by the universe to share your story with me,” I said. “I get that a lot,” the man replied: “They call me black Jesus.”
Our encounter with black Jesus came at the moment I needed it the most. The mental challenge of too many weeks and months at sea, through rocking waves and scorching heat, has left me questioning the entire project. But I intuitively knew that even if it doesn’t feel amazing in the moment, it is worth it in the end. It is the nature of the adventure to test you, to make you want to quit, and then to make you want to do it all over again once it is over. It is our soul's calling for the growth and expansion that can only come through friction.
Regardless, we were all tired and eager to get on land when we sailed into port on Isla Mujeres on the 6th of March in the morning. Falkor is now safely docked in a marina on the island, our small team is happy and rested, and I’ll get to stretch my legs and move my body on land for a few weeks, with no sailing and plenty of tacos in the months to come. Oh, the bliss.
Thank you, crew, thank you, Falkor, and thank you, Capi Taco—alter ego—for gifting us the adventure of a lifetime. We made it.