Indecision and The Question that Drove it Away: How I Made up my Mind to Sail South

If action is the basis for success, indecision is the birthplace of failure. And dear god, have I been indecisive this last month...To be fair, I have always considered myself a pretty resolute person; I typically know what I want and go for it. I follow my gut - which usually leads me in the right, or at the very least, an interesting, direction - and I've never been one to hem and haw and change my mind, which is why this past month has been...well...driving me batty.

***

Ever since our last boat and most of all our worldly possessions were taken by Hurricane Irma last summer, we knew that our next boat would not be left in the path of harm (aka: hurricane alley, which is where we happen to live). The storms of last season took away a whole lot from a whole lot of people, but one good thing they swept away in their wake: complacency. No one wants to be caught with their pants down this year (and probably for the next few following) and neither do we. So our plan: sail ourselves south for the peak hurricane months of August and September and haul our boat in Grenada, where storms are "statistically" less likely to strike (knocks on wood). This way, we can enjoy time back with friends and family with relatively little stress (watching hurricane Irma on her death march to our home was pure agony) and our boat will not be a sitting duck in the water. For months this has been our plan; re-visit our former island-hopping cruising days for a short while. The girls are older, they are all great swimmers, and our boat - a Hallberg Rassy 46 - is a legitimate thoroughbred on the water. She loves to sail. This was our plan since we returned in January and I was all about it.

Until the time to leave grew closer and indecision set up shop in my brain.

My first guest was doubt... I turned over a million scenarios in my head and came up with as many excuses why sailing south wasn't really a good idea: "Is our boat really ready?" "Are the girls really ready?" "Would it cut too much into our time back home with friends and family?" "What if the twins get sick and don't sleep well?" "We really need more fans...." "Our dinghy leaks air..." "We don't have solar power or a water maker, we should have those to cruise..." "What if we get into shit weather and I have to help Scott, what will the girls do?" and (shameful to admit) "What will I do without regular wifi!?"  these questions, along with a myriad of others plagued me day and night and opened the door for indecision. Do we stay or do we go? Ultimately (hindsight being the best magnifier) - it was fear that caused me to make the "chicken out" decision to flying home from here - though I didn't think it at the time. I had made up my mind, we were opting out of the sail.

But for some reason the decision was not sitting right.

If I was honest, it did feel very much like a cop-out, the idea of flying home. Sure I had all the excuses and everything sounded hunky dory, but I knew the truth. Scott and I would have a chat, he'd convince me that all would be fine and it would be fun, he'd beg me to come with the girls, and then I'd say, "Okay! We are in!" Two days later, doubt would creep back in and I'd back out again. This flip-flopping happened no fewer than 15 times people! It was driving me (and Scott) crazy. WHY COULD I NOT MAKE UP MY MIND!? WHAT HAPPENED TO THE GIRL WHO KNEW EXACTLY WHAT SHE WANTED?! WHY ON EARTH WAS I HOLDING BACK ON THIS?!

I still don't exactly know what my indecisiveness was about or where it was coming from. I suspect a nice chat with a therapist could uncover that, but ultimately, after talking on the phone with my sister and best friend no fewer than thirty times combined, and going over ideas and scenarios with Scott, I - at Scott's urging - looked at my options and thought to myself: what will I regret not doing? Would I regret not flying home a little early to see friends and family while Scott sailed our home south, or would I regret not taking this opportunity to show our girls an adventure, do some traveling, and spend some time at sea? Once I posed the question to myself in that way, the answer came clear as a bell: adventure.

I chose adventure.

And until making this final decision (and, yep, it's final now!) I had no idea how badly I've been craving a little adventure. Call it wanderlust, call it fernweh, call it whatever you want - but that insatiable urge for change, travel and life experience, I have it. It went a *tiny* bit dormant while the kids were small and I had barely any time to come up for air, let alone dream and scheme, but that fire that once was inside and drove me toward the unknown is beginning to flicker again. And I am so excited.

The plan right now is to head to St. Croix on Tuesday to drop off a bunch of stuff we had in storage for friends, and from there we're going to make the 35/40 hour hop to either Guadaloupe (my absolute favorite!) or Dominica. We'll spend a few days in that area and then continue island hopping down the chain, stopping where we feel, finally ending in Grenada where we will haul our boat and fly back to Chicago for fun with friends and family.

This decision feels good. It feels right.

***

If I've learned anything - particularly in the wake of Irma - it's that life and circumstances can change very, very quickly.  My grandfather - a true hedonist and man who lived a life of travel and adventure - always said: if there's an opportunity, take it. And for most of my life that little snippet of advice has carried me to some pretty amazing people, experiences and places. Sometimes it's scary and vulnerable to take a leap into the unknown, but we all know the little venn diagram about comfort zones and where the magic happens (hint: it's outside of it). So we are going to take this opportunity and we are SO excited. I'll be keeping our Facebook and Instagram pages updated where we can, so follow us over there if you want to keep up with us, though my posts will likely be sporadic.

Time to get back to our cruising roots, for a little while at least...

How We Got our Groove Back: Piecing together Life Post-Irma

Haven looks at what used to be our home.

Our first charter for our daysail company, Aristocat Charters, was April 10th. It might not seem like a massive announcement in the grand scheme of things, but getting our flailing business back up and running (we lost both our day charter boats to the storm and have been income-less since) was the last piece of the "Irma puzzle" we had to put together to resume life as normal. It's a laughable concept - "as normal" - because life here after hurricane Irma is anything but "normal"... so much has changed. People have left (both by choice and not), "disaster relief" groups have taken their place, buildings are destroyed, construction is booming, tourists are few and far between, new industries and companies have emerged, tides have changed in a million ways, and many lives and livelihoods face uncertainty...The fact that our first charter was six months overdue is just one *tiny* anomaly among many. It's pretty much the same plot line for every single one of us that lives here: adjustment and recalibration is part of the new normal.

Life post-Irma has been an equally strange and amazing time, living in what some might describe as a "disaster area" that, in many ways, has not quite found it's footing is...interesting. From a global perspective, this situation is not unique. Every day there are a whole host of geographical areas effected by natural disasters, wars, and extreme poverty. These are polarizing predicaments, to be sure. But coming from the relatively bubble-wrapped perspective of a privileged "first worlder", this is very unique. Despite the "different-ness" (life will for a long time be discussed in a pre vs. post Irma vernacular), however, the beauty shines through. My heart continues to swell with gratitude every single day that we can live here, our girls continue to thrive in their wild and carefree childhood, and the tourists who have chosen not to cancel their travel plans all echo the same sentiment: "This place is amazing!" Because it is. Sure, you will see a whole host of cars driving around with only plastic for windows with mangled bodies and, yep, you will probably turn to gawk at some buildings who's second floor is no more, and - true - there are some areas where the destruction and damage will be shocking and possibly depressing, but if you can get past that - you will see that so much beauty remains unchanged. And to be able to see beyond the destruction is, I am learning, a gift.

Those of us that live here, we have to see beyond it. We have no other choice. And so we do.

When I lived in Tanzania my best girlfriend from college came to visit. I picked her up from the 8:30pm KLM flight that arrived from Amsterdam in my old beater of a Land Cruiser and we made the long, dark drive back to my house. We chatted and caught up as we passed a flicker of a roadside oil lantern here and there, and I was giddy with excitement to have a visiting fried. The drive to my house was an hour and to get there we passed through a little roadside shanty town to get up the hill to where I lived. I walked or drove through this little neighborhood every day. Ramshackle dirt-floor homes made of propped up corrugated roof bits and sticks, cardboard mats, and whatever was available. Stray dogs, mamas collecting firewood, and barefoot little kids kept a regular buzz of activity along the roadside...it was all very normal to me. "Oh my gosh Brittany!" my friend gasped when the askari (armed guard) closed the car gate behind us. "How could you not warn me about that?" I was confused..."About what?" I asked, perplexed. "That poverty down there" she said with wide, sad eyes. And suddenly it dawned on me: this was NOT normal to her. It was shocking to her. She had never seen anything like it before. To me, however, those were the kids I hugged and high-fived on the way down the hill. Those were the mamas that sold me my daily maize and welcomed me home with a smile. To me, it was normal. My brain had adjusted.

And it's kind of like that here.

This lesson that I learned so long ago and am re-learning again is the amazing ability of the human brain to adapt. I have always wondered how people in war torn areas were able to live day to day, marveled at the horrors of history such as concentration camps and how people persevered, and my heart breaks daily at the thought of losing a child and how parents (like my own mother) go on after such utter devastation ... while our situation absolutely pales in comparison to those above, what I have learned is that people are often stronger than we think. And when you don't have a choice, your brain does this amazing thing: it adapts. "If you don't bend you break" is a mantra that has resonated with me for a long time - and as a very "type A" person it's not always an easy one for me to embody - but life post-Irma has taught me that more than anything. You need to be flexible. You need to be patient. You need to bend. Choices are a gift, for sure. But when they go away, you learn to work with - and appreciate - what you have. And you go on.

Do not get me wrong, our family is by no means "choice-less" in the literal sense, we are still very much in the top percent of the world's population, but leaving this place would mean abandoning a dream, a life we love, and it would set us back financially in a very significant way. We, in our thought process, had no choice but to stay and try to salvage what we could of our life and business. Irma took us out at our knees; we were at the top of our game, making more money that we had even predicted and growing our business in leaps and bounds. Last season was a record breaker for Aristocat Charters and this season was on track to break that by a LOT...we were doing so well and excited about future plans and goals, dreaming big travel dreams and plotting some exciting getaways. Irma changed all that over the course of a few hours but focusing on the past and how good we had it is easiest way to sink into an anxiety ridden depression. The only way to look now is forward. And one fact remains: we still have it very good. We still have a wonderful life. We are healthy and have our kids. We live in a beautiful and inspiring (albeit imperfect) place.

Perspective is everything.

"What's it like there now?" people ask me. I tell them that it's different, yes, but there are what I describe as "pockets of normalcy" where things feel okay and even like they were before. The main grocery store is unchanged and fully stocked, the roads are clear and free again, Isla's darling school is a haven of happiness and joy (and looks just as it did pre-Irma), our beloved Nanny Cay Marina - while very different - still feels very much the same and the community here is stronger than ever. These are just a few examples... Every day things get a little bit better.  These are still some of the most beautiful islands on the planet and one of the best places for a water-based vacation. Despite what is a very uncertain future in regards to tourism - not to mention the very real (almost palpable) terror that is inside all of us about future hurricane seasons - I am grateful. Our family - no doubt about it - are some of the lucky ones.

So yes, this past month was a big one for us. Our new boat is here meaning we finally have a place to call our own again (stay tuned for a tour and pics!), our beautiful new (to us) daysail boat for Aristocat Charters is up and running (and arguably better than our other boats!), and life is beginning to feel more "normal". Things are coming together and it feels so, so good. As the islands build themselves back up and nature restores itself, so does the human spirit. We are all of us changed from the hurricanes, but I also believe most of us have a new layer of empathy, understanding and an inner strength that has grown. We have nowhere to look but forward.

Our new home and boat, s/v Sonder

These islands still need help! The best way to show support is to come and visit us! People who have been here since the storm are RAVING about their amazing times on charters...this place is still amazing, awe-inspiring and beautiful - ESPECIALLY from the water. Check out my post for Marinemax about what to expect on your trip. See you soon!

Also, if pictures are your thing and you want to see more - please follow us over on Facebook or Instagram where I post pictures of our life and adventures every day. Thank you!

Eulogy for our Boat

Note that the hole in the bow is the bow thruster and not the hold that sank our boat.

Twenty-four hours before Irma struck Tortola and changed the course of our lives and the lives of countless others, I knew we were in for it. "We are going to lose Legato," I told Scott in a contradictory state of shocked disbelief and utter certainty as Irma gained strength on her unforgiving trajectory toward our island of Tortola. I've written about how surreal it is to watch a slowly advancing "mega" hurricane descend upon your home, I've also written about the aftermath of a life forever changed from that hurricane. What I haven't written about is our boat, and what happened to her.

***

Those of us who live on boats know that they are more than "just boats". They become an extension of us, a part of our family and they become our home. Our boats weather storms and rough seas, they deliver us to safe harbor and new horizons. They are dreams and adventures and hopes and wonder all molded into a shiny, fiberglass hull. Most live-aboards meticulously care for their boats, as not doing so can become a matter of life and death... We are intimate with their bellies, their quirks, and how they need to be handled "just so" in certain situations. We fall in love with them and refer to them as a "she". Most of us treat them as such, with tender love and respect...We become very attached to our boats because of the tremendous amount of blood, sweat and tears we put into them. To boaters, our vessels are not inanimate objects, they have souls...

Ours was no different.

Due to the fact that our beautiful Tayana, Legato, was a new-to-us boat, she was unable to take us on all the adventures we wished for her, the trips we had planned for this coming season and beyond... She was taken from us too soon. But our short time with her didn't dampen our love of her; just as it doesn't take long for a mother to fall in love with a newborn baby, falling in love with a boat happens quickly. She was to be our "forever" boat (if there is such a thing) and she was about as close to perfect for us as we could have imagined. She was strong and safe, she sailed wonderfully and she was beautiful. She was soooo beautiful. What do they call it? "House proud?" Yeah, I was "boat proud". We loved her so much. We were very happy living in her cozy belly.

Of all the things I imagined - even worst-case scenario style - I never imagined her sinking.

After Irma struck and we were able to confirm our loved ones and friends were safe, we were able to focus on what exactly happened to Legato. As word and images began to trickle out of our home marina of Nanny Cay, it became apparent that our boat was not in the tangled mess of masts and hulls pushed ashore. "We can't see your boat anywhere" our friend wrote us. "We are so sorry. We have been looking." And, despite a few folks (Scott included) holding out the *sliver* of hope that she'd be found somewhere else entirely, we all knew deep down that she'd sunk.

As pictures like these emerged from Nanny Cay, it became clear our boat was not afloat. Note the 60 foot catamaran flipped over on land like a toy.

Weeks went by and we heard nothing of our boat. And then, one dreary afternoon as I was crafting with the girls, I got the message from my friend, Charlotte:

"Oh Brittany
They found her
I'm so sorry
She's been under this whole time."

She paused and then finished with:

"I took a picture but let me know when you're ready"

I told her I was ready. But I wasn't ready.

How can one be ready to see their beloved home in such a state? I immediately burst into tears as I saw the sorry picture of our home and a well of emotion that had been in hiding for the previous few weeks opened up with a vengeance.

The first picture I saw of our boat after Irma, she is being lifted off the bottom here. Hardly recognizable.

Imagining our boat; all our carefully selected things, our children's' treasures and toys, and all that we had worked so hard for sitting for a month on the silty bottom of the marina floor was too much. My mind imagined our saloon filled with water, dark and murky. The pillows, the clothes, maybe a few things were floating around weightlessly? The eerie stillness and silence of a watery grave...I imagined all our kids beloved books, slowly disintegrating where they were stacked so carefully on the shelf...their stuffed animals, sodden with dirty marina water, laying haphazardly where their final float deposited them...all the woodwork, paper work, tools, electronics...it took us an entire month to shift all our belongings from our old boat to Legato...my mind raced through the inventory aboard, the memories that were, and those that were never to be...

What happened? I wondered as I looked at the wreck of carnage that was once our home. What did her in? Was it our own rig? The rig of another boat? A piling from the broken docks? Maybe it was the corner of one of those cement blocks that were found all over the marina? Those used to be in the water...What *was* it?

The answer to these questions will likely never be known, but it is clear that something punctured her starboard side, just at the waterline. That hole - such a seemingly small yet incredibly significant thing - was what took down our boat and all our belongings inside of her. Have you ever seen water rushing into a boat from a hole below the waterline? The force is incredible and terrifying from even the smallest puncture and it's amazing how quickly water will accumulate. I imagine that fateful moment of impact and how quickly water flooded in, filling our boat at an alarming rate. Our bilge pump wouldn't even have put a dent in it...but our newly installed high water alarm might have sounded for a few moments before it, too, was under. Our boat went down fast, that much is certain. I imagine the water rising, covering all our rugs that I so carefully selected, the floor boards floating up, releasing all the contents kept underneath them. I imagine the water quickly submerging the girl's toy box, their dollies and blocks joining in the frenzied floating fray, and water rising up past the settees and to our bookshelf... All the electronics, the crafting cubby and the pictures on our walls ...I imagine the chaos and swirling water and debris down below as even greater mayhem reigned outside. And I imagine her going down, settling on the murky bottom to die with a soft thud.

A few inches higher and she might have still stayed floating...

While at first I was confused why no one could find a sign of our boat for a solid month after the storm, it became clear later when the diver who found her told Scott that there is only one foot visibility at the moment, and that they are locating boats on the bottom by touch. He met Scott, had a beer with him at the beach bar and offered his condolences. "When I found your boat, I put my hands on her and thought, 'Damn, this was a nice boat'" he told him. And she was. She was a really, really nice boat - and a very comfortable and lovely home. And even though a boat is replaceable, we grieve the loss.

***

As much as Irma took from us, we are among the lucky. We are alive and healthy and young. We were insured and as such, our "stuff" can and will be replaced, and - yes (spoiler alert!) - we will eventually get another boat. It's amazing how something like this puts a whole new perspective on life and what is important. At my lowest moments post-Irma I would immediately think, "But what if I lost a child today? I would then wish for where I am right now..." Suddenly, losing our house, livelihood and things - while shitty - didn't seem like a big deal. Things can be replaced, lives can be rebuilt and communities can heal... I am grateful that we are/were so lucky. We have an amazing support network around us, a fantastic community to return to and we have resources at our disposal. While we mourn the loss of the beautiful home we lost and all she took down with her, we will cherish the memories as we look forward to what lies ahead... This is a single chapter in the story of our life...the adventures will continue.

RIP s/v Legato
Tayana 48
Lost to Hurricane Irma
September 6, 2017

Scott has been going aboard almost daily to try to salvage things. Not easy as the boat is at a 45 degree angle.

So sad to see such a mess and imagine all the garbage this one single boat has produced.

A very sorry state for what was once such a regal and beautiful boat.

The tangled mess of lines and rigging is hard to even comprehend. It gives you a tiny idea of Irma's power

Legato in what has become the boat graveyard at Nanny Cay.

Scott has, amazingly managed to salvage some of the kids things...legos, dinosaurs, some dress up clothes, a tea set...as horrible as plastic is for the ocean, we are grateful to be able to keep some of these things. He even rescued some stuffed animals that after a good soak in disinfectant and a few wash cycles are good as new! Our chain, anchor, and dishes have also been salvaged. Every little bit counts. Note: He propped up this bear and dolly so I could show the girls that the toys were safe together...

Life After Irma

Life goes on. This is the most comforting, and yet hardest aspect to grasp post Irma. I walked through Target the other day, meandering the aisles and taking stock of the obscene amount of stuff filling every shelf (some of which I admittedly put in my cart). I could not stop thinking of my friends  and fellow islanders on St. Maarten, BVI, USVI, Domenica and Puerto Rico who wait for hours and hours to get basic staples, who walk for miles to charge their devices and attempt to connect with loved ones...who's lives have taken on a completely different purpose and weight, and for whom basic survival is a daily game. What would they think of this Target trip, I wondered? These are people for whom a roof, a shower and a flushing toilet are luxuries. Target? What a joke. But life goes on...

There are two camps of people who have emerged from this storm; those who lived through the horror of it (and by almost all accounts, it was absolutely terrifying) and those of us who are residents and watched from afar as the horror unfolded. The experiences for each - both pre and post storm - are different, but the end result is the same: Every single one of our lives have been changed forever. Many of us lost our homes and most all of our worldly belongings. Many of us lost jobs and businesses. Not a single one of us came out unscathed. An entire geographic area's inhabitants (not to mention our islands) are permanently scarred from #irmaria and while each of our scars are unique, they are there. The side-effects of the trauma of an entire life completely turned upside down are vast. And we will all feel the after-shocks of Hurricane Irma for a very, very long time.

As most of you know, we are in the Chicagoland area where we plan to stay for the time being. And - despite the unfortunate circumstances - it's wonderful here. We are surrounded by amazing family (Mom, you are the best! Thank you for everything!) and have many friends - new and old - nearby. Isla is enrolled in kindergarten and I walk her to school hand in hand every day as leaves crunch under our feet while we chit-chat. She has fit in seamlessly and absolutely loves it and all her new friends, who come running up to her to envelop her in hugs as we arrive at the school doors. Haven and Mira attend a little pre-school two mornings a week where they play and paint and they too love it. Not a single morning has been met with tears or protests of not going. They are adaptable and social children and we are very proud and grateful for that. They are all in dance class twice a week and swim class on Mondays...and, honestly, are as happy as ever. They miss our boat, they ask after their island friends daily and are excited to go back and rebuild ("We are gonna bring food and water to Nanny Cay momma!" they say. The lack of food and water immediately after the storm is something they really clung to). As much as we want to go back and try to rebuild our life and business on Tortola, the time is not now. We need to assure it's safe and that schools are running, and we need to prepare our girls for what will be a very different - albeit interesting - life when we return (we are up for the adventure and challenge). In the meantime, life needs to continue while we make a plan moving forward. To anyone that sees us out and about on the streets here, we are just another suburban family living our life. But there is so much more below the surface. It's strange to think about and I am now hyper aware that everyone has a story. How many people do I mindlessly walk past in the grocery store are deep in pain; maybe they are going through a divorce, lost a loved one, suffer depression, or battle addiction...we just never know. This experience has really driven this fact home for me: that life goes on as normal for the people around us even though our lives will never be the same.

As someone who studied theater most of her life and leans toward positive-thinking I can very easily put on a happy face out and about, but the pain of uncertainty, the sting of losing our beloved home and the general feeling of being untethered is always there. I have strange dreams every night. One in which our boat was lifted from the depths of the harbor, in perfect condition and ready to sail again. Another I was making my way across post-apocolyptic Tortola on foot trying desperately to get back to Nanny Cay. The storm and it's effects on us are etched deep within our psyches, obviously. Keeping busy helps, and the kids are great at keeping us busy. Helping where we can is also a boon to the pain. Our fundraising efforts have blown us away and we have all of you to thank for that. At the time of this post we have raised over $160K for relief and rebuilding efforts in the British Virgin Islands. To think that our first "goal" was $10K might illustrate our shock at this large number. Our friends, family and online community is huge and generous and we thank every single one of you. We have spent about $80K so far on tarps, generators and chainsaws and are going to be working closely with other organizations who are on the ground in the BVI to make sure our money goes where it's most needed. This is easier said than done (File this under: lessons learned in disaster relief), which is why it is taking some time, but every penny will get into hands of people and organizations on the ground working to rebuild our beautiful island. If you have not donated and feel the urge to do so, you can here: >>>BVI IMMEDIATE RELIEF FUND<<<.

IN OTHER NEWS: we have been invited to the Annapolis Boat Show next weekend by a couple of very generous souls (Thank you SO MUCH Jeff and Cam Bach!) We are SO excited about this and while it didn't seem like we could make it at first, I felt this deep "need" - almost a calling of sorts - to go, and my gut was telling me it was important... So we have made it happen. We will be joining many blog and vlog friends there; some of whom we already know and love, some of whom we have never yet met in person. I might be speaking on a Cruising World Panel about ways sailors can help and what to expect sailing south. Check in with our Facebook Page for updates on where we will be and when. It will be a very busy weekend for sure but we'd love to meet as many of you as we can... Scott and I, along with others, will be at the BVI Tourism booth selling our #BVISTRONG shirts and all proceeds will be going to the >>>VISAR BVI RELIEF FUND<<<. If you won't be at the show and want to sport some #BVISTRONG gear yourself, you can get tee shirts (men, women, toddler and kids styles available), baby onesies, hoodies and trucker hats >>>HERE<<<. Huge shout out to the awesome folks behind >>> Tight Little Tribe<<< and >>>Remember the Adventure<<< for working with me on this and making it happen so fast. We have raised thousands for VISAR with this initiative while also sporting our pride! Please give them some love. I also want to give a strong shout out to the group >>>Sailors Helping<<<. Aside from housing their newly appointed executive director (and PR evacuee turned pseudo family member and friend) Diana Margarita, we are ambassadors for their great effort as well and if you are a sailor who wants to help - please check them out. This is also great place to donate to if you have no specific affiliation with a particular island and just want to help. They have big plans for long term efforts, and we are excited to be working with them.

I cannot say it enough: the community and solidarity that has emerged from these storms is AMAZING. The other day I wrote that "as my heart breaks, it fills" because the kindness of both strangers and friends and the many people who are stepping up to the plate are astounding. The coming together of people from all different walks of life is humbling and shows me that there is hope in this crazy world. We are shining with silver linings these days, and seeing the positive that has come out of this disaster is a lesson in humanity that I am honored to experience. We cannot thank you all enough...Those of you who have reached out to us - your kindness will not be forgotten.

So life is going on. We are grateful, we are lucky and we are okay. The challenge of moving forward from this storm is a big one, but we are up for it. We are not waving the white flag and - while there are definitely days we feel very defeated and completely lost, and there are moments when I completely break down - we have every intention to emerge from this stronger than before.

"And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, 

how you managed to survive. 

You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. 

But one thing is certain. 

When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. 

That's what this storm's all about."

-Haruki Murakami

And now some pics of us back on the water this weekend with our dear friends from >>>Monday Never<<<...our growing friendship with them is one of the many silver linings of #irmaria (they will also be at the boat show with us!) Getting out on the water with them was cathartic.

Hurricane Irma: Reflections on a Life Forever Altered by her Wrath

We were supposed to fly back to Tortola yesterday. Our bags sit in my closet half-way packed with belongings and goodies we were bringing back to our beloved boat. This past weekend was supposed to be full of tearful goodbyes with friends and family. We should be on our boat right now, maybe getting ready for Isla's first day of kindergarten. She was so excited about her new shoes and uniform. Or maybe we'd be at the beach bar at this moment, hanging out with our friends and telling stories from our respective summers, enveloping in hugs, clinking drinks and lamenting how we'd forgotten it could be so damn hot. The post-summer reunions are always so nice...

This next season held so much promise; best business year yet, travel plans, family visits, rendezvous with new friends...there was so much we were looking forward to.

Irma took all that away from us.

It is hard to put into words how I am feeling. I don't even really think I know how I am feeling because the magnitude of the situation is, quite frankly, hard to grasp. It's surreal and, like so many of our friends, I feel numb. We are not unique in our position right now, not by a long shot. I'm often at a loss for words when people ask me about it. There's a constant little ache in my heart that I carry with me all day long and each time my brain reminds me that this is really happening, I get that a tiny sensation of free-falling in my belly. Life as we knew it is over, and we need to begin again. And while there is a glimmer of excitement in a clean slate and having the ability to "chose your own adventure" (this is how I am framing it for the girls), there is also a tremendous amount of pain and grief because - as most of you know - we really, really loved our life. Our boat, our community, our island...We didn't want it to change. There is no where else we'd rather be. But we don't always get what we want, and sometimes something unexpected happens that shakes your world to the core.

On September 6th, Hurricane Irma ripped across our little island showing no mercy. We were hit square on and - at one point as we abroad watched in horror - all of Tortola was visible in her eye. We held our breath. But we knew...we had seen the footage coming out of St. Maarten just hours earlier The devastation...we knew it was going to be beyond what any of us could possibly fathom...And she was. Her wrath was catastrophic. Biblical. Unimaginable. The scope of her destruction was beyond anyone's wildest dreams. I keep throwing around the unofficial statistic 90%. "90% of the houses are destroyed." "90% of the boats are destroyed." "90% of our island is destroyed." Ninety percent. Again, it's not an official number - but I can tell you it's close. It doesn't take a genius to scan the images and videos come to that ball park number. There is hardly a single palm frond left. She raked our island clean of all foliage. It looks like a nuclear bomb was dropped and friends on the ground are describing the scene as "post-apocalyptic".

She took our boat, she lies now at the muddy bottom of our marina. She took our business, stripping our boats from their hurricane hole and hurling them into a twisted pile of hundreds of others. She took the homes and businesses of many others and nearly all of our friends. She took beaches and trees and animals and landmarks. And she took lives. We are grateful and lucky to have been spared. Lucky to be alive...we know this, and we are grateful. But that doesn't mean we still cannot feel the pain of losing so much. It doesn't mean we don't grieve for the life that we knew and our uncertain future. We will be okay, we know that. And, yes, we still have each other. But we grieve. A death has still occurred. And, to be quite honest, I think I haven't even truly begin to process it. This is not the loss of a loved one - far greater to be sure - but it is a loss, and one that so many cannot even begin to fathom. But we are lucky, we had insurance and, hopefully, we will one day be able to recover our great losses.

In the wake of Irma, however, some magic has occurred. As it happens so often in times of crisis the layers of the onion peel away and people begin to see what is really important. Before Irma hit (and we became aware of her velocity and what it might mean for us) my friend went aboard s/v Legato to gather things off our boat, "What do you want?" She asked. I couldn't think of a single thing that I *needed* to get off because of real value. After Irma hit the only thing  I was concerned about was the safety of our friends. And now, instead of slipping into a depressed funk about what our future holds (I completely reserve the right to do this at a later date, fyi), I - along with most of my friends - am channelling my pain into efforts to help the BVI recover as quickly as it can.

People are pulling up their sleeves and coming together. On the ground, on the front lines and abroad, people are working tirelessly to help in any way they can. From fundraising to donating, from evacuating to offering services, from going to the front lines to getting word out to the media, everyone is doing their part and efforts large and small are being made by everyday people. More and more stories are coming out of people talking about how - despite the horror of their experience - it's been one of the most humbling and positive experiences they've ever been a part of. How grateful they are for their lives. How grateful they are for their friends. How, really, it's the simplest things that matter the most. How everyone came together to help one another. It's a lesson in humanity. Almost every message from those who have survived the greatest storm of the century is: Gratitude. For life, for neighbors, for each other. "It was the most horrific experience of our lives...but we are stronger for it".

The yin and yang of life. Just as our beautiful British Virgin Islands showed nature at her most perfect, Irma reminded us that she can be very, very ugly as well. She giveth and she taketh away.

Scott and I have started a relief fund to help rebuild our beloved British Virgin Islands. He is in Puerto Rico right now working with the amazing group >>>Sailors Helping<<< (set up by the amazing powerhouse of a duo behind Sail Me Om) - along with so many others - (Massive shout out to Puerto Rico and it's people for stepping up to the plate SO BIG for ALL the Virgin Islands and our friends from Three Sheets Sailing for their amazing work!) in an effort to find ways to get our islands back up and running as quickly as possible. And there are so many more I have not mentioned...The road is long, but we are not alone.

If you'd like to help the beautiful Islands that we called home, if you ever vacationed in the BVI and fell in love with it like we did - donate. No amount is too small. Please feel free to share if you are unable to contribute!

PLEASE HELP US HELP THE BVI COME BACK STRONGER THAN EVER:

>>>>Brittany and Scott's BVI Immediate Relief Fund<<<<

#BVISTRONG #WEWILLREBUILD

Hurry Up and Wait: The Agony of Watching a Hurricane Barrel Down on Your Island

"What's the most stressful part of living on an island/running an island business/living on a boat?" We get this question a lot. And there are a host of answers to each but one answer crosses all divides is: being right smack dab in the middle of hurricane alley between the months of June and November every year. Our stress is compounded by the fact that both >>>our business<<< and our home are water based, and as such Scott and I currently own four boats in Tortola. There are more than a few people who would look at us and think to themselves (and possibly out loud) what a preposterous position to put ourselves in. And at this particular moment, we might agree.

***

There is currently a major hurricane barreling down on our little island. Her name is Irma and she is apparently a beast, slated to be a Cat 3 or 4 when she hits our area (for perspective, Katrina was a Cat 5). After a few days of nail-biting monitoring it seems, more than ever, that she will - at best - pass very close to our island, and - at worst - pass directly over us. My days have been a blur of checking weather sites for updates and new storm models with the hopes of positive news, and each day it becomes more and more clear that this storm poses a real threat to our island and island neighbors. People are flying out, stores are selling out of non-perishables and the departments of disaster management are urging people to PREPARE NOW. It's a big deal. And this waiting, this constant refreshing of the news feed to see if a new model shows promise of a turn away from us...it is agonizing. But like watching a train wreck, it is so hard turn away. "Stop watching!" they tell me but it's hard when we have so much at stake; our livelihood, our friends and our home are all there. And so I keep scanning my feed, hoping for positive news while channeling my inner meteorologist and every morning brings news that makes the sickening feeling in my belly deepen: this hurricane is not turning, her path is becoming more defined and our island is very likely in it.

Another agonizing element to this story is the fact that we are not there. Of course this is a blessing, as our most precious cargo is safe from Irma's wrath. However, if we were there, we could at least be doing something proactive to prepare and know we did our best to do what we could...instead we watch with a feeling of helplessness. We monitor the weather sites, we communicate and commiserate with other locals and we hope. Thankfully, we have some amazing friends, neighbors and employees working for us on the home front. Peter from >>>Where the Coconuts Grow<<< has been a lifesaver and is currently prepping our home, >>>s/v Legato<<<, and two of our >>>Aristocat Charters<<< catamarans as well as his own boat (read his wife and my good friend Jody's Hurricane Plan). With the help of our amazing employees Jorn and Brian, I am confident they are doing right by us. But they also have to prepare themselves, their homes and boats as well, and I feel very guilty adding to an already stressful workload for all of them. I cannot adequately express my gratitude for their efforts on our behalf...

Another element of this excruciating waiting game is the simple fact that hurricanes make a rather slow progression forward - about 15 mph to be exact - and that means we watch them for days and days and days before we know with good probability exactly where they will go... The silver lining to this is of course the ability to see them coming (most of the time) and give people ample time to prepare, the hard part is watching a hurricane march ominously toward your island at the pace of a healthy jogging human which, for the record, feels painfully slow. And then there is the fact that we have so much to lose there. The potential loss makes me sick to consider but it's hard not to; our home, our business - all are literal sitting ducks in the water. Yes, we are insured. Yes, these things can be replaced. But the thought of utter devastation - and losing most everything we own - breaks my heart, and even though it feels selfish to be so worried when we are our of harms way and other's will have it way worse than us, tears well up in my eyes at the thought of what could happen and what it means for us.

So we wait.

***

It is Sunday and it is looking like Irma will pass by or over our rock sometime Tuesday or Wednesday night. The next 48 hours will be crucial and determine with more precision where she will go but hurricanes - like all of mother nature's incredible forces - are wild and unpredictable. We will not have real answers until after she has left us in her wake. Hopefully, with as little damage as possible.

In the words of our Isla, who just a few hours ago looked into my worried eyes and said, "Don't worry mommy. If our stuff tips over it's okay, it's just stuff. The most important things are people." And she is right. Our wise, wonderful child.

Our thoughts are with all our island friends, neighbors, fellow boaters and everyone in Irma's path.

"The most important things are people." Stay safe, everyone. And a heartfelt "thank you" to our amazing >>>Windtraveler Community<<< for all the thoughts, vibes, and prayers. We appreciate your support more than you know.

Decorating a Boat (or Tiny Home): Putting the Fun in Function

I'm sure there are people out there who scoff at the idea of "decorating" a boat. Certainly the saltiest sailors of our time - Slocum, Mortissier, Johnston (all whom I love and admire) - cared very little about aesthetics when they were journeying... A boat, after all, is made to perform and safety and integrity should always remain top priorities. While I wish I had a little more of the rugged adventurist who could care less about fluffy things such as "decor" in me, I will say that I do not. I'm spontaneous and adventurous and up for a challenge, but I still love and crave certain creature comforts; namely I like the place I live to look nice and tidy and to feel inviting and homey.

When living on a boat or tiny home, however, the key is to enjoy these things while still being functional. Believe it or not, there are ways you can beautify your boat without spending hordes of money and sacrificing performance... Throw pillows, wall art, and rugs are the three easy ingredients and with a little planning, your boat can look nice and cohesive with minimal effort. I've written before about >>> making a boat a home <<< , but it's been a few years. Because >>> we have a new boat <<< now and my style has evolved, I have a few more tips and products to share for those fellow live-aboards and cruisers who, like me, prefer their boat to feel (and look!) like a 'home'.

Tips for decorating a boat:

1) Work with what you've got: This is stating the obvious, but there are certain things you cannot change on a boat. Where a mast is placed, how your saloon is laid out, and galley countertops are hard/impossible to change without doing major renovation. Work with what you have, at least to start. For example, our new boat has navy blue leather cushions throughout. We probably would not have chosen the 'nautical' navy blue ourselves, but re-covering all the cushions would have cost us a fortune. Instead, I worked them into our boat's color palette. Which brings me to my next tip...

2) Pick a color palette: This is the fun part! We love color! Check out these tips for picking a color scheme and then go generate one easily with this online tool. We chose a bright color palette that was largely dictated by colors in art we brought from our old boat and the navy blue of our cushions. Keeping the color scheme - whether it be muted and soft (beige, baby blue, gray), or colorful and bold (bright blue, green, turquoise) helps to keep the decor cohesive.

3) Incorporate pieces that coordinate but stand out: Large patterns on bedding and cushions are tough on a boat because they can make an already small space feel smaller, we really like sticking with our cushions/bedding being a solid, plain color and incorporating bold patterns in with our decor like pillows and rugs. Throw pillows and non-skid floor matts are a really easy way to bring color and patterns into a boat.

4) Utilize wall space: Because there is very little counter space on a boat, we have utilized wall space to decorate our boat with pictures, art, and decorative wall storage pouches to keep clutter at bay.

5) Look at the big picture: A boat is small and there isn't much separation from space to space so our whole boat is more or less decorated within our color palette. We use pillows, rugs, and photos to decorate our space which are easily swapped out and changed if we feel like redecorating. A lot of our pieces can also be switched from space to space if we feel like changing things up a little.

6) Don't forget functionality: Don't ever forget that a boat's purpose is to go sailing. This means that you must consider whether or not something really makes sense to bring aboard. For example, a vase in the center of the table is probably a bad idea, as it will most likely become a projectile when underway. We try to keep our boat as "sail ready" as possible so most of our decor is either secured to the boat or easily tucked away. We can be off the dock in no time, and that's how we like it.

Decorating a Boat: What's in our Arsenal

1) Art: Wall space is usually quite limited on a boat but where we do have it, we've added some art. For our wedding we were gifted a >>> Patrick Reid O'Brien <<< print and we loved it so much we brought it to our first boat, and it has been on every boat since. We have also added two more of his pieces. The art tells a story, the first depicts Chicago, where we met. The second, St. Joseph, Michigan, where we married. The third, Tortola, where we chose to settle. We don't have the "welcome friends' piece on this inspiration board, but it's similar to the pieces we do have (and I kind of want it!)

2) Scout Rump Roost Medium Bin: I am obsessed with all things Scout! We have four of >>> these bins <<< in our boat (both styles depicted on this inspiration board) and they are where our toys, spare linen, and the girls' dress up clothes live. They look super nice, fold flat, and - the best part - are water proof and sturdy enough to stand/sit on. Because space is at such a premium on a boat most - if not all - items should serve two purposes and these fit the bill perfectly.

3) Throw Pillows: I'm not sure if there is anything that causes more husband/wife discord than the number of pillows in a home, but in my experience, men see no point in these things. And, okay, they might be a tad superfluous but I love me some throw pillows and while Scott has put a strict moratorium on me buying any more, I think they really spruce up our boat and the girls love making forts with them all. Dual purpose! We got most of ours on from Amazon where they >>> have an awesome and very affordable selection <<<.

4) Gallery wall: This is my favorite feature of our new boat. I have always wanted a 'gallery wall' of family photos and we finally had the space for it on our Tayana. I mix and matched frames similar to >>> this set<<< ,and printed out some pictures. Everyone who comes aboard loves peeking at the pictures and I think it looks so nice and inviting as a main focal point in our boat.

5) Throw rugs: We have seven throw rugs on our boat. They make a huge difference in the look of our interior and I'm always on the hunt for >>> good ones<<<. Most of ours are indoor/outdoor rugs that are stain proof and easily cleaned, and we have non-skid mats underneath all so they don't slip. One thing that is tricky with rugs is that boat spaces are usually more narrow and don't fit regular sizes. What I do is measure the space where I want a rug to be, and then I go to Amazon and do a search for a rug of that dimension. It's worked well for me and you get more choices and styles. You could also have a rug cut down to size and bound by a professional.

6) Scout Hang Ten Bin: Another >>> Scout product we love <<<. We have about six of these in our boat and not only do they look nice, but they are sturdy and hold a lot. These bins are in our larger lockers to hold clothes and you will see one in the picture below in our bedroom holding my obscene multitude of trucker hats (the struggle is real).

7) Coordinating the galley: Because our saloon runs right into our galley, I've kept the decoration there in the same color palette. The pot holders, dish towels and most of our dinnerware coordinates with the other elements in our boat. These >>> magnetic nesting cooking utensils <<< were an awesome find because not only do they look nice, but the next together magnetically and take up zero drawer space.

7) Non skid mat: as I mentioned above, throw rugs are your friend. These >>> non-skid mats <<< are very durable, stain proof and have been on our boats from day one. The nice pattern is a big plus and they are small enough that they'd fit in just about any boat interior.

8) Turkish Towels: We love turkish towels on our boat and use them for the bath, beach and pool. We also use these >>> Turkish hand towels <<< for our dishes and they look nice to boot.

9) Wall organizers: I cannot stand clutter (hard to avoid with three kids but still...) and prefer a minimalist, airy and open feeling. We have four of these >>> wall organizers <<< in the girls' rooms and in both heads (bathrooms) affixed to the wall with industrial velcro and they look stylish and store things in an nice, organized way.

Tools we use:

1) Industrial Strength Velcro: We love this stuff on our boat and keep a >>> giant roll of it<<<. It is what we use to affix all our art and photos to the walls without having to drill holes into our boat.

2) Museum Putty: While we try to keep our counters clutter-free from projectiles that might go flying underway, we do have a few trinkets out here and there. >>> Museum Putty <<< makes sure they stay put.

3) Command strip anything: I love command strip hooks! We have three or four of >>> these hooks <<< behind every door and they hold towels, bags, hoodies and other stuff freeing up space in our cubbies and drawers and keeping clutter out of sight.

***

Those are our tips! What tips do you have for decorating a small space? Please share as we are always evolving over here and looking for new ideas. In the meantime, here is our space and what it looks like. I hope you enjoy!

Our bedroom. I love it so much. You can see our art (hung by velcro) as well as the "LOVE" adhesive above the bed

Here you see some more photos as well as bins I use to store my camera accessories as well as my trucker hats.

Our walk-thru galley. Everything still flows nicely to the back and front of the boat.

Another piece of art, velcroed to the wall. For the wire fruit basket we will have a hook drilled above it that a piece of bungee will attach to for rougher passages to ensure it doesn't fall over.

Another view of our saloon, the main living space in our boat.

Looking at our saloon towards the kid's berths.

The ottomon is more toy storage and I aboslutely love those super soft herringbone print pillows. There is a fiddle that goes across the book shelf so books do not fall out, but we remove it when we are docked so it's easier for the girls to get books out.

I could not resist the pinapple, it (along with the tiny fake plants) are super light and secured with museum putty. And who can resist putting out their shell horn for decor?

The gallery wall that I love so, so much. Pictures are also easy changed out. Again, secured with industrial velcro so no holes.

Looking forward to Isla's room. You see our newest piece of Patrick O'Brien art and some more rugs.

The twins's top bunk. They sleep up there together, by choice, despite having a bunk each. Their books are stored in bins.

Another view of their room. You can see a Scout bin on the bottom bunk for their stuffed animals.

Isla's room which is FULL of books! The super strong bungee running the length of the shelves prevents them from flying out when we heel over.