Three years sailing reflection

On July 1, 2025, we celebrated exactly three years of sailing with My Motu. Three years of living on the water, sleeping with the sound of the waves, breakfasting with a view of the horizon, and living with the wind as our guide. What began as a dream has now become our daily existence, complete with leaking hoses, underwater worlds, homemade chapatis, and stormy night watches.

Together (Jeroen, Rajesh, and I), we take a moment to reflect. What does three years at sea actually do to a person? To yourself? To your family? Time for a moment of reflection. Not looking back in numbers or miles (although there are almost 19,000 of them now), but in feelings, growth, dreams, and doubts. So I asked Jeroen, Rajesh, and myself a series of questions: about what we learned, missed, hoped for, and never expected to see coming.

The answers that came were too valuable to compress into a single blog post. They demanded space. Breathe. Pay attention. That’s why we are sharing them in a triptych. No summaries, no filters, just the way they are.

In part 1 read how this journey has changed us, what we miss, what we never expected. 
In part 2 we share our dreams, doubts, and how we now view freedom and the future. 
in part 3 we dive into what carries us, what hurts, what touched us and what we want to share with others.

Because sailing is more than just keeping course, it is also learning to navigate between desires and insecurities, discovering what really matters, and continuing to be amazed by the world around you.

What the Sea Changed in Us

A long journey changes you, sometimes slowly, like sand settling between your toes, sometimes suddenly, like a wave that washes over you unexpectedly. In this first part of our reflection, we reflect on what has changed within ourselves since we stepped aboard. What have we let go? What have we found? What surprised us along the way, and what do we sometimes still miss from the life we left behind? Three voices, three perspectives, one shared journey.

What has changed in us since we started this journey? 

Aagje: Three years ago, I embarked on a dream. A dream I created together with my family, with courage, curiosity, and a healthy dose of daring. What I didn’t know then is how profoundly this journey would change me. Not all at once, but little by little, wave by wave.

I have become more gentle in my judgment, especially of myself. Where I used to often look inward critically, whether things were good enough, whether I was doing enough, I have now gained more confidence in my own compass. I don’t have to be certain of everything. I am allowed to be on my way, even internally.

My beliefs are less black and white. There is room for doubt, for “I don’t know right now,” for the realisation that contradictions can coexist. Freedom and responsibility. Joy and homesickness. Adventure and a longing for peace.

My habits have changed, too. Living on a boat requires improvisation, flexibility, and a great deal of patience. Things don’t always go as planned, and that’s okay. I don’t always have to be in control. I can’t. And that’s precisely where there is a freedom I didn’t know before.

My self-image? That’s no longer intertwined with what I do, but with who I am . No longer the woman with the busy schedule, the private practice, the flourishing life on land. But the woman who plants her feet firmly on the sand, who faces her fears head-on, and who continues to find herself in the sound of the sea. I may not always be sure of my course, but I am sure of my anchor.

Home used to be the house I lived in. The walls, the furniture, the familiar rhythm. Now I know: home isn’t a place, but a feeling. A feeling of connection. Of safety. Of togetherness.

Home is where I am with the people I love, whether that’s in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, in a cosy anchorage, or at a kitchen table in the Netherlands. It’s in the conversations, the little rituals, the shared laughter, the holding each other when times are tough.

Sometimes home is the silence of the ocean, and sometimes the murmur of a familiar voice from the other side of the world. And I always carry it within me, as an inner place where I can land, even when the sea is rough.

Rajesh: These three years of sailing were neither entirely easy nor overwhelmingly difficult. The journey brought its fair share of ups and downs, but through it all, I have become a wiser man, more grounded, more patient, and more in tune with myself and the world around me.

Jeroen: When I look at my character and behaviour, I feel like I am essentially the same person I was before I stopped working and started living full-time on a sailboat. 
The same interests, habits, joys, challenges, and frustrations. The big difference is the extra time I now have for everything. Life has become calmer and simpler, and I spend more time on the daily routines: making yoghurt, baking bread, cleaning, maintaining the boat, running the watermaker, chatting with the neighbours, drinking coffee in the cockpit, and enjoying the view.

Every day I also spend a lot of time on my phone, reading news and watching YouTube channels that interest me, especially about the changing world, human behaviour, technology and sailing and travel channels.

New experiences have always been a driving force for me. It could be a vacation to an unfamiliar place, a new activity or sport to try, or a project I can dive into, whether it’s a house, a car, a motorcycle, a new job, or spending time with friends.

I don’t mind taking a break from being productive for a while, but I feel my best when I am working on projects that improve my daily life. Like renovating a shower, building a shed with a pool table, or buying and renovating an old holiday cottage or caravan.

In our previous lives, we both worked full-time to afford such things. That meant we were busy most of the time. And that’s precisely where the big difference lies compared to the life we lead now.

The abundance of time we have now is incredibly valuable to me. It gives me the space to reflect on myself, my life, and what I truly value. That’s something I used to struggle with and preferred to avoid for most of my life, distracting myself with work, vacations, and new projects.

Living on a sailboat in a tropical climate feels almost perfect at this stage of my life. I wouldn’t do it alone, and I am well aware that a big part of my success lies in working with Aagje and Rajesh.

What I find remarkable is how harmoniously we live together on the boat. We all have our own daily routines and strong personalities, but we give each other space. At the same time, we spend quality time together every day: game nights, exploring islands together, snorkelling, lunch, dinner, a sundowner in the cockpit at five o’clock, washing dishes, cutting hair, fishing, sailing, watching movies and TV shows. That’s something I truly appreciate.

What were the moments when you learned the most about yourself, and when were you most proud of yourself? 

Jeroen: After three years on board, the boat feels so familiar that I sometimes almost forget how many challenges and learning curves we have faced along the way. From gradually transforming the boat into a reliable “home on the water” to mastering the skills to safely cross oceans and navigate between islands, reefs, and atolls, it was an intense but rewarding process. I sometimes tell people, “It’s not difficult, anyone can do this.” And maybe that’s true in a way, but easy? No, definitely not. 

There were times when I was really challenged, especially by some technical issues on board. Fortunately, I could count on the help of a good friend, and we solved it together, step by step. It gave not only confidence but also a sense of accomplishment.

What I find remarkable is that Aagje and I consistently have the courage to make big choices together. We follow our hearts. We not only decided to leave our old lives behind, but also to truly shape this new chapter, in our own way. And in doing so, we prove to ourselves: we can do this together. We don’t have to be afraid to change things when it’s time. If you listen to your intuition, the direction will follow naturally.

Aagje: This whole journey is one big lesson. Not a quiet summer course, but an intense and continuous learning journey where the classroom has no walls, the exam starts unexpectedly, and the ocean is your teacher.

I have learned that being brave doesn’t mean you are not afraid of anything. Being brave means going on, while you are afraid. My fear of water is still there. The thought of something that could pull me under, the feeling that I might drown, that fear runs deep. She doesn’t just visit, she travels with me.

Every time we set off on a longer crossing, I feel it again. That unease in my stomach, the heightened alertness, the rational knowledge that everything will be alright, but my body is protesting, nonetheless. Yet, together with Jeroen and Rajesh, I hoist the sails, look ahead, and breathe deeply. And then exhale.

What I have learned is perhaps the most important insight so far: I am not alone in this. So many other sailors, even the most experienced, carry their own fears. And that makes it normal. Human. Not a sign of weakness, but of awareness. And that realisation has made me more gentle with myself.

The moment of pride isn’t in one big success, not a victory flag on top of an imaginary mountain. It’s in the keep going. In not running from fear, but giving it a place on board. In admitting that I sometimes find it exciting but not letting it paralyse me. In the fact that I am not just surviving but enjoy.

I am enjoying it 100%, the sound of the waves against the hull. The sunlight danced across the water in a thousand tiny stars. The moments in the cockpit with a cup of tea, or with tears in my eyes from laughter. Even the tension before departure, because I know: when I see land again, I won’t just have come further, I will have grown.

And that makes me proud. 

Rajesh: At the beginning of the trip, I really didn’t know how I would feel about living full-time on a sailboat. I had never been a “water person,” and the sea felt strange. But something inside me said, “Just give it a try, Rajesh .” So I did.

As the trip progressed, we began to see more of nature: remote islands, vibrant reefs, endless skies. I started snorkelling, capturing everything I could with my little GoPro. I didn’t know much about it, but every time I went in the water, I discovered something new. Every fish, coral, or sea turtle filled me with a kind of quiet joy and curiosity I had never felt before. I wanted to see more.

That curiosity turned into a passion when I finished my diving lessons. I was incredibly proud of myself. Diving brought me closer to the underwater world, and I realised I wasn’t just learning to live in the sea; I was becoming part of it. Somewhere along the way, the boy who once doubted became a water boy, a sailor.

My love for photography also developed. When I lived on land, I primarily captured people. But life on the boat shifted my focus to nature. I began photographing birds, wildlife, and landscapes that made me feel small in the best way. It was in Panama that this transformation took hold. There, surrounded by a rich biodiversity, I discovered myself, not just as a traveller or sailor, but as a nature photographer.

When did you feel you were exactly where you were supposed to be?

Rajesh: It was during the longer voyages, those crossings of three days or more (especially the Bahamas crossing), that I felt most at home, most connected to where I was meant to be. There, far from the mainland, just the boat, the wind, and the open sea, something changed within me.

The longer we sailed, the lighter I felt. I didn’t worry about what was to come. There was no pressure, no rush, just presence. The vastness of the ocean, the utter solitude, the rhythm of the waves—it all made sense to me in a way that life on land never quite understood. It’s strange and beautiful: the further away I was from the world, the more connected I felt to myself. Those were the moments I knew: I belong to the sea.

Aagje: Without a doubt: during the crossing from Panama to French Polynesia. This wasn’t just any crossing. It was the crossing we had been working toward from the very beginning. Every boat job in the Caribbean, every night on watch in the Bahamas, every time something broke down and we fixed it together, it all led to this one moment. It felt like all our preparation, our choices, our growth were converging into a single line, focused on this ocean

There was something in the air in Panama. A tense energy among the sailors, expectations, nerves, and the realisation of how far and irreversible this crossing is. And then comes the doubt. Are we really ready? Is this the right thing to do? Especially when our buddy boat decides against it after all, that doubt suddenly becomes palpable. But somewhere beneath it all, deeper, was something else. A knowing. A trust.

And that trust was confirmed the moment we weighed anchor. Less than 500 meters into the voyage, we caught our first fish, a sign, a wink from the sea. Everything clicked. The boat felt strong. We felt connected. We knew: this is our moment.

That crossing became magical. Not because everything went smoothly, but because we lived together, as a team, in complete surrender. To the wind, to the waves, to the starry sky. The days flowed together, with sunlight on deck and the scent of sea salt in the air. The nights were quiet and full of trust, with only the moonlight for company and the gentle breath of the ocean around us.

And then, French Polynesia. The enchantment of the Tuamotu Islands, with their tranquil lagoons, their turquoise worlds, and their endless horizon. There we landed not only physically, but also in our hearts. We felt at home, deeply at home. In a part of the world so far from everything, and precisely for that reason, so deeply moved us. If there was ever a single moment when I knew, “I am exactly where I am meant to be,” it was there. On that water, under that sky, in that connection, with nature, with each other, and with myself.

Jeroen: One moment that really stands out for me was swimming with a baby humpback whale and her mother. We were so close we looked into each other’s eyes. You could almost touch her. It was an encounter that deeply touched me.

What made this moment so special was the incredible peace and kindness these animals exude. Despite their enormous size, it didn’t feel threatening for a second. On the contrary. It was peaceful, serene even. In such a moment, you feel how small you are, but also how connected you are. Being so close to nature, in that way, has a profound effect on you.

And what I realized most of all: we humans can still learn a lot from these giants. About trust, about balance, about not taking more than you need. It felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

Looking back on three years of sailing, what did you never expect?

Aagje: So much surprised me. Things I couldn’t have predicted, even with the best-planned route or the most reliable weather forecast.

I never expected I could handle so much. That I would learn to carry my fears like a backpack: not gone, not vanished, but no longer paralysing. That I can carry on, even when I am afraid. That I am stronger than I ever thought, and at the same time, softer. More human.

I also had not expected how many goodbyes this life would involve. From people, from plans, from expectations. Sometimes temporary, sometimes permanent. And that letting go isn’t a one-time thing, but a kind of rhythm of the sailor’s life. Friendships that blossom in a bay and disappear beyond the horizon. Contacts that fade back home, even when you don’t want them to. That was and sometimes still is painful. But it also taught me that those who stay stay deeper. And those who sail by often leave a beautiful echo. And then there are the surprises. So many.

I never thought I could really live like this. So raw, so pure. That I would look out at the world every day with childlike wonder. That I would see dolphins playing as if they had come especially for me. That I could smell the colours of a sunset. That I would stand barefoot on the deck and feel: I belong here.

And honestly? I didn’t expect to keep this up for so long without going crazy from the limited space, the chores, the salt, the noise of a flapping line or a squeaking hatch seal. But you get used to it. You learn to dance with it. Just like with the waves.

Rajesh: I never expected to fall in love with boating, let alone enjoy it so much. Coming from India, where I was surrounded by hills, rivers, buildings, and crowds of people, the ocean was never part of my world. I had never even seen a sailboat, let alone imagined living on one full-time. But here I am, fully immersed in a lifestyle I never knew existed, and I sincerely hope it never ends.

What I had not anticipated, however, was the emotional side of this life. On a sailboat, you meet incredible people and visit unforgettable places, but you also have to say goodbye. Sometimes that’s for a short time, but sometimes forever. You never really know. That’s the hardest part: letting go without knowing if paths will ever cross again. 

Jeroen: I find this a rather difficult question. Especially because I am someone who doesn’t like to plan and prefers to live day by day. I didn’t have, and still don’t have, a clear goal for the future or any high expectations. But I will give it a shot.

What surprised me most is how many people are searching for a different life. For freedom, simplicity, adventure. People who, just like us, have embarked on a journey, each with their own story and reason. Some have an end date in sight, but many don’t. I didn’t expect we had encounter so many people walking the exact same path.

I also didn’t expect to feel so comfortable while we are anchored somewhere. Sleeping on the water is surprisingly easy, and I actually quite like the simple life with lots of time and few obligations. Especially here in the Pacific, we feel safe and at home on board.

And then something I found truly special: my sister-in-law, Nathalie, came to visit us in French Polynesia and sailed with us for a bit. This is way outside her comfort zone, but she just did it. Truly impressive, hats off!

What I had not anticipated is how devastating the impact of climate change and overfishing is. We see it here with our own eyes: few fish in the sea, overgrowth of sargassum, beaches covered in floating algae, dead coral reefs, water temperatures sometimes reaching 32 degrees Celsius, and fish that cause illness, such as ciguatera.

Nature is having a hard time. And now we are also going to disturb the seabed by mining rare earth metals from so-called marine nodules. Honestly, I never really cared about this kind of thing, but that’s changed. I am now genuinely worried about the future of the planet.

What do you miss most about life before sailing, and what don’t you miss at all?

Jeroen: To be honest, I don’t miss much of my old life. I think I was truly ready for a change of course when we left. Of course, there are things I look back on fondly, especially the game nights with family and the cosy gatherings with friends. Casual togetherness, just enjoying each other’s company. I expect we will pick that up again in the future. We are considering the possibility of spending a few months each year living and working in the Netherlands and then returning to life on the boat.

What I absolutely don’t miss is the busy life in the Netherlands, the constant pressure of regulations, and the government’s interference in everything you do. Here, on a sailboat in the Pacific, life feels much freer. Less rush, fewer rules, more peace. In Fiji, for example, the people are cheerful and friendly everywhere. There is a relaxed atmosphere that almost feels old-fashioned, in a positive sense. That was a real eye-opener.

Rajesh: To be honest, I have always lived far away from what most people call “home.” I grew up in an orphanage with 30 to 40 boys of all ages. Then I moved to the Netherlands and eventually ended up on this sailing trip. So in many ways, I was already accustomed to a life of change.

What I miss about life on land is the constant connection with people: seeing the same faces, building lasting friendships, that sense of a grounded community. That’s something life at sea doesn’t offer. Here, everything and everyone is temporary.

But I don’t miss the routine. I love the freedom, the constant movement, and the surprises that this life brings. Aside from a few good friends in India and my family in the Netherlands, I don’t feel like I have left anything behind. Here, I feel alive.

Aagje: What I miss most are the people. Not just acquaintances, but the deep-rooted connections. The spontaneous coffee breaks, cycling by for a chat, laughing together over nothing. The kind of closeness that doesn’t fit through a screen, no matter how good the Wi-Fi. Family, friends, clients who became close, that human closeness is irreplaceable for me.

And also my work. Not necessarily running a practice or managing appointments, but the contact, listening to stories, the reassurance, seeing a smile after a successful treatment. That’s where I could make a difference, and I still miss that feeling of direct impact.

But there are also things that I do not at all miss. The hectic pace, for example. The agenda is always overflowing. The feeling that you Always something has to be done . And strangely enough: the stuff. I thought I had missed my large easel, my closets full of clothes, or my trusty kitchen utensils. But it turns out I can manage perfectly well with very little. It’s precisely that simplicity that brings peace.

What I thought I had missed, like long, hot showers, endless supermarket options, or a firm, unmoving bed, turns out to be mere luxuries. Comfortable, yes. Necessary, no. Because what I have received in exchange for those comforts is priceless: space in my head, connection with nature, the rhythm of the sun and moon, and the feeling that every day matters.

Three years on the road changed us, in subtle yet profound ways. We learned to navigate between expectations and reality, between fear and trust, between farewell and connection. What we left behind wasn’t always what we missed most, and what we found often went deeper than we could ever have imagined.

But this was only the first anchor point of our reflection. In the next section, we will explore the dreams and desires that this journey brought us. We will talk about the moments that touched us, what freedom has come to mean to us, and how we now, after three years, dare to look to the future.

Read part 2 soon: Dreams, freedom and life on the go, about hope, direction and the confidence that the sea always offers a horizon.