Life At Sea
How life at sea has given me a new perspective and made me a better person
On an idyllic long weekend lounging outside our cabin in the hills near Melbourne, Australia, my new love Richard and I were fantasising about what our future might look like – an alpaca farm with Richard-designed holiday villas on the side, running a couples’ retreat for building awesome relationships or studying enology and opening a vineyard in the rolling hills of South Australia.
I was reminded of some friends who had left everything to sail the world, and I got this sudden pang of wanting. I could see myself sailing away. Actually, it was more of a pang of not wanting – not wanting to work five days a week, no longer wanting to hold the psychological care of the young people I worked with. I wanted out.
COVID times had been really taxing on so many people, and as a psychologist caring for young people, I carried a lot. I knew Richard was an avid watcher of YouTube sailing channels and loved to sail. I knew we could do it. I turned to Richard and said, “Can we do that?” Richard paused for all of one second and said, “Oh yeah, we can do that”. And that was it.
From that moment, I never doubted my decision. I didn’t know how to sail, and I get seasick, but I ignored those minor details. I knew I was smart enough to learn any new skill, physically strong enough to meet the demands of sailing, and mentally flexible enough to work out how to love it (and get over any pesky sea sickness).
Unlike all my other great ideas, this one stuck. I was embarking on a new adventure and changing my life direction. With enthusiasm and positivity, I went about making it happen – quickly. We bought a boat, then went about selling or giving away everything. I felt a sense of freedom to so easily let go of things I’d hung onto — artwork, handbags, career, and house. One monumental decision, and my life turned upside down. I left one suitcase of special memories behind and followed my dream. There were no ties, no safety nets, and nothing left to bring me back — well, except my family. I really miss them.
It’s now been two years since Richard and I left land life to live full-time on Helios, a new Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 410 in the Mediterranean. We spend our days sailing, relaxing at anchor, and visiting great destinations while recording it all for our growing YouTube channel Sailing Helios. It’s been a massive shift.
As a psychologist, I understood how this shift would likely affect me. I knew that a huge part of self-identity is wrapped up in the roles we play — our profession, our social circle, our achievements. We wear these labels for so long that they become us. “I’m a mother.” “I’m a psychologist.” “I live in Melbourne.” These aren’t just descriptions — they’re anchors. They give us meaning and belonging. I was really proud of what I had achieved in my life’s journey. I’d come a long way.
Many of the anchorages are within marine reserves, where mooring buoys are provided and anchoring is discouraged to protect the reef and seabed. We’ll never forget Îlot Signal, where sea turtles swam calmly around our boat like we were just part of the scenery. We even spotted what we believe were the tails of dugongs slipping below the surface.
Baie de Prony—just 30 nautical miles south from Nouméa—became a favourite. There, you can pick up a mooring off Casy, hike to the Cap N’Dua lighthouse from Anse Majic, or soak in the thermal pools upriver. Most days, we shared these spots with only one or two other boats. This is cruising at its finest.
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