This is going to be the last post written from out at sea on the Atlantic for a while.
If all goes well, we’ll be arriving around lunchtime today — so sitting here in the last dark hours of the night feels like the perfect moment to think back over the last two weeks and how this crossing has been on Akuna.

If you’ve been reading the daily updates, you’ve probably guessed that this turned out to be an unexpectedly wonderful experience. And as much as I’m looking forward to land, a tiny part of me is sad it’s coming to an end. Don’t worry — that tiny part will be comforted very quickly with a cold rum punch.

So why was it exceptional?
First of all: Neli. Because he was here, we actually slept like semi-functional humans. But more than that — all the effort, planning, and quiet behind-the-scenes magic he put in made the whole journey easier, and somehow more special for all of us.

Secondly: my worries about the boys going cranky or stir-crazy from the lack of movement? Never happened. Quite the opposite, actually — I don’t think I’ve seen them this settled in a long time. Content, calm, never scared, rarely grumpy. Of course we all had our moments, but they were truly tiny.
And yes, the boys watched a heroic amount of movies… but they were shockingly cooperative when asked to turn a screen off and do something else. Their creativity in coming up with games is still beyond me — their resilience is something we could all learn from.
But as amazing as they’ve been, I can now definitely tell they’re ready to get off this boat.

And me? Well, I realised I’ve grown a lot since the first time doing this. Crossing the ocean is weirdly similar to the first weeks with a newborn: you can’t escape, you’re living your best life one minute and feeling exhausted and slightly unhinged the next… and then something tiny and perfect happens and you think, yep, so worth it — would do it all over again.

Maybe having gone through this particular exercise a few times now has helped me stay in the moment, roll with unexpected situations, and see the positive when plans unravel — because they always do.

And then there’s trust:
I trust this boat to keep us safe. I trust all the work Mark put into Akuna. His meticulous preparation, his organisation, his ability to foresee what we might need. (Although the number of cable ties on this boat will remain an endless source of jokes. Truly… it’s a LOT.)

And I trust us — as a crew, as a team, and as a family — to figure things out when needed. And honestly, that’s the best feeling in the world.

We’ve had wonderful sailing days, rainy days with proper wind, and everything in between. We didn’t see land for 14 days, and somehow the view never got boring… Don’t ask me how the Atlantic manages to look different in the west than in the east — but it really does.

The sunrises and sunsets were breathtaking, every single time.
And although the days recently started blending together, they’ve never — at least for me — reached the point of rock-bottom boredom. Maybe we’d need another seven days for that!?

So what do I take from all this?

A deep sense of calm. A strangely comforting feeling of freedom, even while being so dependent on the circumstances around me. The knowledge that I, too, can be resilient. A renewed sense of achievement. And yes — a little pride. Pride in my kids, in my husband… and in myself.

Now — let’s get those cinnamon scrolls out of the oven and head for the finish line!!!!