My first job ever on a boat was picking weevils out of bags of sugar in preparation for a 1,200-mile delivery from the South Pacific island of Tonga to Opua, New Zealand, aboard a 43ft catamaran. Up to that point in my life, the sum total of all my sailing experience had been a single daysail.
Getting on that initial delivery was pure chance. After graduating college, I’d made various attempts at fulfilling what I called the “metropolitan dream” of getting a job and moving to New York City. In the end, though, I ended up moving back in with my parents toward the East End of Long Island and began working seasonal jobs in the wine industry. This in turn led me to New Zealand where I met the skipper and first mate of the 43-footer. Despite having grown up swimming and lifeguarding on Long Island Sound, one of the East Coast’s premier cruising spots, it took flying halfway around the world to get introduced to sailing. They invited me to fly to Tonga with them and sail back to New Zealand on their next delivery—an experience that changed the trajectory of my life.
During the 10-day crossing, I had a sense of such profound happiness I thought if I died then and there, my life would be complete. I’d reached a sublime state of existence. It simply could not get any better than this, I kept finding myself thinking.
When I returned to New Zealand and then, eventually, the United States, I kept on working for various farms and wineries. Whenever I closed my eyes, though, I would find myself remembering that passage. I
