identity crisis part two.
Stepping off the corporate ladder felt like stepping off solid ground - liberating, disorienting, and leaving me floating in a space where time no longer revolved around meetings, deadlines, or a job title that defined me. In my case, I wasn’t just stepping into the unknown, I was stepping onto S/V Salty Saguaro, our new home on the water.
New identities added to the collection: boat owner, sailor, vagabond. Distractions were aplenty - downsizing, the road trip from California to Washington, cramming our lives into a floating home and unraveling the boat’s endless quirks. Between learning systems and drafting an ever-growing projects list, my mind drifted to turquoise anchorages, downwind sailing days, free diving, and the freedom to chase the horizon.
At first, dreaming was an escape—fuel for the long hours spent fixing, adjusting, and learning. But soon, dreams turned from motivation to mockery. Every project delay, every unexpected repair, every uncooperative weather window felt like another step away from why we bought the boat in the first place. Our dreams felt like they were slipping away.
Frustrations turned into momentary resentments and I retreated. We both needed steady positivity that I couldn’t always provide. I was torn between the need for stability and the promise of adventure. The boat had become both a dream and a burden, and I found myself craving something familiar—structure, purpose, and a challenge I knew I could solve.
It’s no surprise that I was intrigued when, months into boat life, a former colleague reached out to discuss an opportunity for HR work at a healthcare start-up. Whispers from my past identity crept in. The more I explored the opportunity, the more exciting it became. I could combine my strengths of HR leadership with a micro-focus on culture in a start-up environment which was at the tipping point of scalability.
The company understood my timeline, leaving to sail around the world as crew on Clipper Round the World, and was open to a contract position, working remotely. I started as part-time while I scoped the full breadth of the organization’s needs. This meant I could dip my toes back into the HR world without full-on commitment. It felt like the best of all the worlds. After one conversation with the CEO, I turned to Jared and said “I think I just accepted a job,” not realizing that I hadn’t yet asked Jared how he felt about me taking on work while our pre-Clipper time was limited …I have since apologized.
It was still summertime in the Puget Sound, rounding into autumn. We were spending time on anchor with friends, exploring the San Juans and the Northern Sound, making our way back to our home slip in the Central Sound between jaunts. We had the voyage down to Mexico in our sights, with the “good" weather windows to head south closing out.
While I was spending part of my time working, Jared was full-time boat dad. I dove into spreadsheets and strategy calls, while Jared wrestled with faulty wiring, a wobbly shaft, underpowered batteries, and the creeping sense that our adventure had stalled before it even began. Major repairs resurfaced - ones we couldn’t ignore before taking Salty offshore. Ultimately, we decided to haul out in Washington which meant staying up north for the winter - far from ideal.
Winter meant cold, storms with high winds which was suboptimal for bottom paint work, not to mention sleepless nights with the boat shaking in the wind on its stilts and freezing trips up/down the ladder to go to the restroom. We weren’t out adventuring. We were climbing masts instead of rock walls. We weren’t active. We were boat owners (minus the fun part), but aside from that, what were we?
I had my work identity to fall back on during the frustrating boatyard days, but observed Jared growing bitter. As he managed all the projects simultaneously, I got the notice that the company wanted me to step in as interim Head of HR. A resume builder. While I poured myself into work, Jared was left managing the boat’s endless demands - an equally essential, but often thankless, job. Being boat dad is a major contribution in itself. He never said it outright, but I saw it - the quiet exhaustion, the bitterness creeping in. We had many conversations about these challenges and then some and while I cannot speak for Jared, we both tried our best to be supportive partners.
The company needed me, and I needed distraction so I stepped into the interim role. What started as a distraction became a full-time commitment, and I found myself leading HR transformation headfirst. I had a bare bones HR staff and no onboarding into what existed or how things had been done in the past which meant new messes to clean up surprising me around every corner. The stresses of employees wanting answers while I sifted through the rubble to piece together the puzzle piled up. The additional income was nice, especially with the rising cost of boat projects, but it only brought peace of mind some days.
During those tougher times, we had to create our own moments of joy rather than finding them. I saw an emotionally-raw post from Tommy Corey (@twerkinthedirt), a photographer I had been inspired by for some time, about his struggle with lack of inspiration and connection to his work. He was going to be in the Seattle area and I invited him up for a “boatyard chic” engagement photoshoot in the hopes that would spark his creativity. While it was all I could think about day and night, getting there didn’t come without friction. Quibbles over last minute outfit changes led to Jared and me almost not speaking going into the shoot. Begrudgingly, Jared agreed to get gussied up and let Tommy take the lead.
Stepping into someone else’s creative process - watching Tommy work, his excitement when he saw '“the shot”, his ability to find beauty in rust and chipped paint - reminded me that creativity thrives in unexpected places. It gave me a fresh perspective on my own journey. It required Jared and me to put work and boat projects aside for an afternoon to focus on us. It created the space for us to reconnect. The entire experience reminded us to find the beauty in the mundane and we ended up with some stunning photos to boot. We are forever grateful.
Three months after entering the boatyard, we splashed Salty back in the water and a few days later were living back on anchor, ready to head north to the San Juans and over to the Gulf Islands of British Columbia. We balanced my long work days with passage days and tackled some boat projects along the way. The slow days, confined to a boat in colder temperatures still get to us, but weather windows to head south toward Mexico are beginning to come into sight. These times have tried our identities and stripped us down to who we are at our core, just a couple of humans navigating life one day at a time.
With Clipper Round the World just over the horizon this year, I am still challenged with how to wrap up my identity in a pretty package. How to present the complexity that is me. Stepping off the corporate ladder and onto a sailboat didn’t just change where I lived - it changed who I am. My motivations have evolved, but my passion remains steady. Some days I feel adrift, but I’m learning that uncertainty isn’t something to fear - it’s part of the adventure. Maybe stepping into the unknown was never about escape - it is about discovering who I can become.
