What Spending Two Weeks on the Water Taught Me.
I Thought I Knew What Freedom Looked Like
I brought my sketchbook to the Bahamas.
Never drew a thing.
Not because I was too busy working — though I did write a blog, keep up with my stories, and logged more laptop time than I planned.
But when the choice was between any of that and getting into that ridiculous Bahama-blue water?
Most of the time, I chose the water.
As I should have.
Somewhere in those two weeks, I started noticing things about myself.
How I want to spend my time.
How I like to travel.
How much structure I want — and how much I don't.
And maybe most importantly: what freedom actually looks like now that I finally have more of it.
There was always a next thing.
For most of my adult life, there was always a next thing.
Kids. Work. Dinners. Deadlines. Appointments. Monday mornings. Repeat.
Even vacations had an expiration date, because eventually you had to get back to “real life.”
Now Todd is retired.
There's no job waiting for me on Monday morning.
I'm building a business I can run from almost anywhere — a dock, a cockpit, a café in France.
For the first time in over 30 years, our time is actually ours.
And here's what surprised me: I'm still figuring out what I want to do with it.
Turns out, having freedom and knowing how you want to use it are two different things.
I'm learning that I don't want fewer plans.
I just want more room in them.
So I started paying attention.
On the water, I love anchoring somewhere beautiful and letting the boat stay put.
The dinghy becomes your car. You explore. Go into town. Find somewhere to snorkel. Tool around the harbor.
Then you come home.
And when you decide you want a different backyard?
You pull the anchor and move.
I like that rhythm.
I also love the community. The people we traveled with on this trip were fun, cool, easygoing — exactly the kind of people you want to find yourself having drinks with on a dock somewhere in the Bahamas.
I want both.
The people. The adventures.
And the freedom to sometimes say: "I like it here. Let's stay another day."
More room in my time.
Maybe that's the phrase I've been looking for.
Not more hours. Not an empty calendar.
Just enough space that everything doesn't have to compete for the same few hours.
If I want to sketch, I can sketch — without feeling like I'm giving up my only shot at the water.
If we love where we are, we stay.
If something better comes along, we change the plan.
A few months ago, I thought I knew what the rest of 2026 looked like.
Clearly, I did not.
Now I'm approaching 60 with more possibilities in front of me than I've had in a very long time.
I'm building something new.
I'm going to France for a month this fall.
Todd and I are talking about doing the Great Loop.
We're talking about eventually spending a lot more time living on the water.
I don't know exactly what any of it will look like.
And for once, I'm okay with that.
Maybe reinvention isn't what we think it is.
Maybe it's not about having a perfectly clear vision of your next chapter before you're allowed to start it.
Maybe it's about paying attention as you go.
I like this. I want more of that.
I thought I wanted this. Maybe I don't.
I didn't know I wanted that until I tried it.
Little by little, the picture gets clearer.
If you're like most women I work with, you've spent decades being an expert on everyone else's time.
The kids' schedules.
The office's deadlines.
Everybody else's Monday mornings.
And somewhere along the way, "what do I actually want?" became a question you stopped asking — because what was the point?
Here's the point: the answer isn't waiting for you somewhere, fully formed. You find it the same way I'm finding mine.
Try something. Notice. Adjust. Try again.
You don't need the whole picture.
You just need to start paying attention.
Right now, here's what I know.
I want more ridiculous blue water.
More time with people I enjoy.
More places I've never been.
And more freedom to change the plan — simply because we can.
Oh, and apparently more bathing suits than any reasonable person needs.
Because even though I call myself an overpacker, I unpacked yesterday and discovered I wore almost everything.
I even got to wear this dress. :-)
So, maybe I didn't overpack at all.
Maybe we just didn't stay long enough.
Where Are You In Your Next Chapter?
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