Monday April 6, 2004
Henderson, NV
Our beloved first house in Henderson, NV
Nereus has been on the hard for eighteen months, since October, 2002. We’ve come quite a way, but now that we’ve decided to go cruising, the crunch is on. The amount of work needing completion is immense. The hull is sound, all the holes are plugged, and the bottom is finished; we are prepared to float. Most of the other systems are also online, but the cosmetics are holding up the show. We need to get the hull painted above the water line (not to mention the decks), but it is already hot here and boat paint doesn’t like to cooperate. The going is getting tough. We are out of time.
The pressure is building. Like it or not, we are committed. We’ve sold our house and are set to move out the middle of May. At that point, I suppose we will actually be cruisers, even though our boat is still high and dry, waiting, begging to get wet. It is exciting and daunting both at the same time.
Our little house – the reality of leaving is now becoming bittersweet, the excitement of our departure waned with the realization of what we will be leaving behind. My job and the sometimes oppressive security it provides. Our terrific friends who support us. Worst of all, our home. This house was built for us. It is the first house Vanessa and I have ever owned; full of memories defining who we are. Sidonia was born here, learned to walk here. The first two years of her life are in this house. Will she remember any of it? Probably not, we have to admit that. But, we are determined. There’s no turning back, even if we wanted to. We don’t want to. We have lived out here in the Las Vegas area, away from our families, for far too long. Getting back east of the Mississippi River is paramount. Sidonia needs to grow up with grand parents, aunts and uncles, and cousins. Our little boat is the vessel to carry us there.
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Over the past year and a half, we have put a lot of effort into Nereus. My heart and soul are in there, along with several thousands of dollars worth of gear. I’ve upgraded everything I can upgrade. Is it everything I want it to be? No, but it will never be so complete; there is no such thing as a perfect boat. It is important to remember the voyage is the prize; a pretty boat is just something to be proud of on the side. I just have to keep working to get it as close as I can before my time runs out. Safety is paramount. Function is a close second. Beauty, while tied to my pride, brings up the rear. Luckily, we will probably have extra time in Michigan to get caught up on things needing attention after we launch. But, by then who knows, maybe we will be too rapt with cruising to bother with pretty. Waiting another year to get it “just right” isn’t a solution, it is more akin to not going – a cop out. Only one way to find out for sure, just go.
I can remember the exact time we made the “official” decision. Back in January after Vanessa’s sisters left from their visit, Vanessa sat on the sofa and wept, missing them completely even though they just left. I understand. It is hard being so far from those you love. I replied that we could just decide – here and now – to go. Sell the house, get on the boat, and be “home” in a few months, having an incredible once-in-a-lifetime adventure along the way. We would have time to spend together and experience things we’ve never experienced before. I would get to spend more time with my daughter, more directly involved with raising her. The cost of living in Las Vegas was beginning to skyrocket anyway, while my wages remained the same. We have little to gain by staying, everything to gain by leaving. It is time to go.
So we prepare. Perhaps blindly. But, it seems right – the thing to do right here, right now. While the pressure now is high, I feel, deep inside, that this will be one of the best things we have ever done . . . or a complete and total disaster. Either way, it is worth the risk. How will we know if we don’t try?
– Steve