Is that it?

Last week, I reached Victoria. It felt like a failure.

For months, getting there had seemed almost impossibly far away. New Zealand, New Caledonia, the Marshall Islands, the Aleutians, Alaska, then south to British Columbia. More than nine thousand miles. Weather, repairs, fatigue, crew changes, decisions. Victoria had become this improbable point beyond the horizon that somehow provided direction.

Then I arrived.

I had done what I said I would do. The boat was there. I was there. By any reasonable measure, the voyage had been a success. All the boxes had been checked.

Adak was tied to the dock. I looked around and thought: is that it?

Victoria should have felt like a celebration. It did not. It felt empty.

I cried.

Not from joy. Not from relief. Not even from exhaustion. I cried because something was missing.

I wanted to reach Victoria.

Victoria was concrete. I could put it on a chart. I could measure the remaining distance. I could make decisions that brought me closer. Eventually I could arrive and say: done.

And I had.

So what was missing? Was there more to this than moving a boat across the Pacific?