A family who had just returned home from a three year circumnavigation with their two girls asked: "Why do you want to keep your house? Why don't you sell it?". We didn't know why, actually. A false sense for security to retain a "home" to return to, maybe? We had been talking about buying another kind of house suiting us better with our growing children, anyway, so why keeping house with its cost and taxes? And besides, why should we necessarily return to our current hometown, in first place? The world is huge, isn't it? At least much bigger than we currently feel, I can add.

Packing and stowing Regina suddenly became a simultaneous unpacking of our house.

I confess: In some very quiet moments all by myself I asked myself why we didn't buy a bigger boat? Where should we stow all items? Boxes after boxes left our house and, somehow, empty boxes returned back to shore. If their contents have not gone up in smoke, it must all be onboard now, somehow, somewhere. Endless lists have been filled in, documenting where each item has been hidden inside Regina. Will we ever find them again?

Dead tired, both Karolina and I fall into bed each night, both asking each other: Why?!

Why are we doing all this? Why have we sold our house? Why do we leave our company? Why abandon our comfortable life with steady income, good friends, splendid wine tastings, the kids' school they like so much? And besides, why are Jessica and Jonathan still so excited about our planned cruise, really looking forward to eventually move onboard and at last being able to cast off? Have we all become crazy?

It goes without saying that we don't feel as brave at all any longer. Not sure about our big step I was writing about with so much self-confidence back in December. Instead, we feel tired. Tired from working in the office, tired from preparing the move from our house, tired from endless stowing, tired of fixing insurance, schoolwork, spare parts, tools, new address, tired of scanning pages from instruction books, recipes, photos and important documents, tired of choosing which clothes, books, CD's and teddy bears to take onboard.

And still: What we leave behind ashore doesn't feel very important to us any longer. Countless so called "indispensable items", which have not been given away or sold, have disappeared in boxes and been put on the attic of Karolina's parents. Why do we keep all these things? For our grand-children?

Even what they broadcast on TV feels less important, suddenly. New tax laws, political squabble, stock market going up and down... It all sounds as if these News are being transmitted from inside one of those boxes we recently carried up onto the attic, vaguely received and blurred on its indistinct way to our minds. Maybe, we are too occopied to bother, too focused on a not even set deadline?

Suddenly, doubt manifests itself again. What will our business clients and suppliers say, when we tell them that we will leave our active roll in the company for a time, handing it over to our employee, explaining that if they want to reach us in the future, they have to dial an Iridium-phone-number, never knowing if we are currently fighting gale winds on the Atlantic or are snorkeling in the tropics? Will they ask us why? Will they consider us irresponsible and crazy?

Regina is a beautiful as ever, almost ready to cast off, only lacking the usual bunker of food by now. She's waiting for us. It is our land-life, however, that is still holding us tight with endless last-minute taskes to finalize. Why can't we just leave shore alone? Hopefully, we will be moving onboard within shortly, undertaking some final fine-tuning, while we are waiting for the kids to end their school year.

When school resumes after the summer break, it will be a different kind of school for Jessica and Jonathan, with teachers they know very well since their births. In addition, also totally unknown teachers will appear, namely life as such spanning from nature over museums to the real world with all it may contain. How will they cope with their parents as teachers? Will it still be as encouraging as they now feel?

How will we all change by undertaking such an adventure? In what respect? What will life teach us, living so close together on a cramped 40 foot boat, constantly underway. So close to mother nature with all its impact and beauty, and, at the same time, so far away from normal shore life? Why do we, at all, want to find out? Why can't we just go on like most others, taking the easy track? It would be much easier, no doubt!

When we finally will observe our home port disappearing in our wakes, I hope to understand why we do all this.