Jordan Bohonek photo
Sometimes you have to write your own script.
by Jordan Bohonek
We didn’t ease into it.
We didn’t test the waters with a long weekend away, or nourish a ‘maybe someday’ plan. One day, we were living a normal life — house, careers, kids, the works — then just like that we found ourselves standing on the deck of a boat we’d never seen before, about to embark on an 8,000-mile journey with nothing but backpacks.
As our careers and finances had grown, so did our enjoyment of things. Big things, small things, shiny things. And, sharing those things with family and friends. But somewhere between all the celebrations, toys and travel, a quiet voice started to whisper: What happens if something happens? What if a health scare, a job change, or an economic downturn took away the income stream we relied on to keep the lifestyle going?
That voice kept getting louder.
We realized the hamster wheel we were sprinting on wasn’t just exhausting, it was completely unsustainable. Then came the tipping point. A few health challenges. Some shakeups at work. A splash of family drama. It all collided in a way that made us realize it was time to hit the pause button.
We sold the house. Sold the cars. Uprooted our careers. Pulled the kids out of school. Bought a boat we had never laid eyes on in person. And, set off on that 8,000-mile journey with just backpacks on our shoulders, schlepping through airports like we were headed to summer camp rather than a year-long voyage.
It was freeing. It was terrifying. It was exactly what we needed.
Hitting the reset button
We learned to slow down. Not the weekend getaway kind of slow down, but the deep, soul-level kind where you can name the last five sunsets you’ve watched, and you remember the exact shade of orange in each one.
One of the most unexpected gifts of the Loop was the people we met. Sure, we had read about the “Looper community” in blogs and forums, but nothing could have prepared us for the depth of connection we’d find out there on the water. Some of these friends became so close we now consider them family. They are the kind of people we’ll travel across states to see, whose kids’ graduations we’ll attend, and who will forever have a guest cabin waiting for us on their boat or a spare room in their house. The Loop gave us miles, but it also gave us a tribe. And that, perhaps, is its greatest treasure.
Now I’m not saying everyone should sell all their stuff, buy a boat, and take off for a year (though if you do this, call me — I know a good yacht broker). But I am saying that you don’t have to wait for a crisis in order to take greater control of your life. Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is step away from the script you’ve been handed and go write your own. For some, that might mean taking a sabbatical. For others, downsizing and moving closer to family. For us, it was an adventure that required navigation charts and diesel fuel.
By the time we completed the Loop, we had more than just miles under our keel. We had inside jokes that will last a lifetime, an unshakable family bond and an appreciation for experiences over possessions. We also discovered an incredible community of boaters, Harbor Hosts and strangers-turned-friends who reminded us that the world is still full of kindness if you’re willing to look for it.
So, when people ask why we stepped back and found a new life on the Loop, my answer is easy. Because life was too short to wait. Because we needed to find out what was on the other side of enough. And because sometimes, you have to leave everything behind in order to truly come home.
