You have to have goals or you rust into the ground, even if you're not old as dirt. When you are that old, dirt -- or soil -- becomes a dirty word. It can be gravely disturbing, if you see what I mean. So the acquisition of goals becomes all the more important.
Three years ago, I set three goals for myself, as you will discover when you read An Irresponsible Adult, the book that I hawk without guilt lower on this page. I've accomplished all three with the completion of that book.
So now I needed new goals. One of them was sort of an expansion of one of the first three -- sailing alone to Bermuda. The subsidiary goal was to sail there and place higher in the race.
But that wasn't something new, technically. So the new goal, never before tried, is crossing the Atlantic in Robin. I've met several folks who have done it. One couple who did it recently were participants in this year's Bermuda One-Two. We talked with them a bit about their experience.
My only concern regarding this goal is whether I will get to it before the dirt intervenes. My challenge is to convince Monica to retire, thus freeing us to set a date for the crossing.
Crossing the Atlantic once doesn't seem to require too much of a commitment. You can make it from the East Coast to, say, Ireland in about four weeks, with luck. But if you don't want to leave your boat on that side, making the complete trip by returning across the Atlantic seems to take closer to a year.
I'm looking for suggestions of creative ways to either make the trip manageable in small chunks of time -- or of creative ways to persuade one's spouse to chuck it all and come along.