Adventures Are Not Linear

Adventures don’t go to plan. They’re not meant to. If you want smooth sailing, stay in routine. But if you want to feel alive, you have to expect the curveballs.

This week I took delivery of Boosy Boots. Yes, that’s her real name — and after fifty years, she’s keeping it.

I was buzzing. Talking to her original builder. Holding the first set of documents in my hands. That kind of history doesn’t come with most boats. I felt like I’d found treasure.

We sailed her back from Hamble to Hythe and it felt perfect — until it didn’t.
Too much water in the bilge. A drip that wouldn’t stop.

I had no choice but to lift her out. And that’s when the inner voice started.
What have you done?
Bought a lemon?
How much is this going to cost?

It’s incredible how fast we forget the good. How quickly the critic in our head drowns out joy. By the end of the week, the documents, the history, even the sail itself — they’d all been pushed aside by the drip, the doubt, the fear.

And this is the truth about adventure. It doesn’t move in straight lines. It breaks, bends, throws curveballs the moment you start to believe things are smooth.

If you want safety, stay in routine. Things don’t break there. But let’s be honest — nothing much comes alive there either.

Curveballs sharpen you. They drag you into the present. They strip away illusions. They test your patience and resilience. They remind you that achievement doesn’t come gift-wrapped. You earn it by persisting when it feels easier to quit.

Do I feel good yet? No. I’m still in the middle of it. Still patching, still doubting. But I trust that I’ll get there — and when I do, it will mean more precisely because of the mess along the way.

That’s the paradox of adventure: the very problems we fear are the ones that make us feel alive.

So don’t let the fear stop you.
Start anyway.
Start small if you need to.
But start.

Because life doesn’t move in straight lines. And neither do adventures.