This morning started like most mornings out here. I woke up just before 6, grabbed my yoga mat and journal, started the kettle, and headed to the top deck. Matt found the hot kettle, made a pot of French press, and joined me for our morning chat. We watched the sky turn colors as the world came to life. Sea turtles pop up around us like bunnies in our yard at home. We talk about everything and nothing. We’ve had time to really reflect on how we are living as individuals, as partners, and as parents.

I’ve often thought this is the best year of my life, but the other day it hit me: this might be the best year I will ever live. I cannot imagine anything feeling better than it does right now. We have our health, enough financial stability to take a few chances, and our kids still under our roof. And here we are, on the grandest adventure in the most beautiful setting we could have imagined. I cannot believe this is our life. I want to freeze every moment.

Someone on a work call recently called my life “charmed,” and it made me laugh a little.

Yes, because. I can look up from my computer and see the Caribbean. Some mornings we start with yoga on a floating dock. We surf before our Zoom calls. We swim off the back of our house in beautiful warm water. We eat dinner barefoot at little beach restaurants. The kids snorkel, sail, free dive, fish, and jump off boats with their friends. At night, Matt and I lie on the trampoline and look at more stars than we knew existed.

It is completely ridiculous how beautiful this life is.

And we are also always tired, sticky and a little hungry.

Pretty much every day brings some unexpected challenge.

Before this year, I had imagined what it would feel like the first time Henry was out driving with his buddies on a Saturday night.

From our slip at the marina, I can literally see where we want to anchor. As the crow flies, it's maybe 600 yards away. A shallow reef sits between us and the anchorage, so we have to motor around a little island to get there.

A month ago, I would have imagined this could take thirty minutes. Untie the lines, motor around the island, drop the anchor, and enjoy the afternoon.

Nope.

Inspired by words I recently heard from the first woman to orbit the moon, our first night in Grenada, I read this to my family: “A crew is a group that is in it all the time, no matter what, that is stroking together every minute with the same purpose, that is willing to sacrifice silently for each other, that gives grace, that holds accountable. A crew has the same cares and the same needs, and a crew is inescapably, beautifully, dutifully linked.” -Christina Koch

I am seeing our family become more than a family, a crew – right before my eyes.

Last week was a complete blur.

Our sailing instructor, Nico, came aboard S/V Elizabeth for five nights, and every single day was better than the last. We finally got off the dock and made our way to the leeward side of Grenada. Night one, we had our first panoramic sunset view over the open ocean. I spent the whole week saying, " This is so beautiful”… and the further we went, the more beautiful it got, I simply can’t believe I am here and get to experience this beauty.

Getting here has already been an adventure.

Picture this: the four of us trying to haul twelve 60-pound checked bags, four completely maxed-out carry-ons, four personal items...and, of course, Cocoa...into our hotel. The tires on the luggage cart flattened. Henry’s growth spurt came just in time. A year ago, I don’t know how we would have done this move without his muscle.

There are some moments that feel significant while they're happening, and others that only reveal their importance when you stop long enough to notice them.

This week was a blur.

School ended. Henry graduated from eighth grade. Work was crazy. Matt was traveling. We celebrated my brother’s engagement. We packed our lives into storage and twelve bags that will become everything we own for the next year aboard a sailboat. We made hundreds of tiny decisions. On the night of Henry's graduation, I was still packing after midnight.

But tucked into all that chaos were moments I'll remember forever.

Where the wind takes us. Quite literally.

We have a start date and a starting location. We have an end date and an end location. Everything in between is up to Mother Nature. The weather, the wind, the sea conditions, the people we meet, and the opportunities we discover along the way will shape our route.

Boats have stories. Before they become yours, they've carried other families, other dreams, and other memories. Ours was no different. For years, she was lovingly known as Dare Greatly, cared for by Jim and Patricia. Every mile sailed was part of the life they built aboard her. We are incredibly grateful for the care they gave this vessel and for entrusting her to us. Before we looked ahead, it felt important to honor the chapter they wrote.

So, on the day we “splashed” (i.e, had her moved off the “hard” and put into the water – by a very cool GIANT boat life – controlled by remote control – how cool is that job?!) our very first evening aboard, with the sun beginning to set over Grenada, the four of us gathered in the cockpit with a booklet I made for the occasion.

We thanked Jim and Patricia and officially retired the name Dare Greatly, expressing gratitude for every harbor visited, every lesson learned, and every friendship made under that name.

And then we gave her a new one.

S/V Elizabeth.