What remains, what changes, and what we want to pass on

In this final part of our reflection, we answer questions that often remain in the background, but reveal so much about what it’s like to live at sea for years: 
Which qualities truly help you, and which don’t? How does aging change when you live on the waves? How do you deal with doubt or the thought of quitting? And what advice would we give to someone who dreams of a different life, at sea or beyond?

Which quality has helped you most on this journey? And which has helped you least?

Aagje: Without a doubt, perseverance is my greatest strength. I don’t give up easily. Not when things get tough, not when I’m tired or scared, and not even when I’m completely lost. It’s deeply ingrained in me. Not the hard, “hard-nosed” attitude, but the gentle, stubborn way of keeping trying. Heaving the anchor again, hoisting the sails again, even when the waves are high, both literally and figuratively.

My ability to put things into perspective has also proven invaluable. Maybe not always at the time, but I can usually find the humor in it later. Even when I’m upside down on the toilet during a rough crossing, I know: This will become a good story someday . And that’s a relief.

My perfectionism is less helpful. I like to do things “right,” have structure, control the schedule, and maintain an overview. But at sea, that rarely works out the way I want. The wind ignores my lists, and plans fall through, sometimes literally. Because of this, I sometimes unnecessarily push myself beyond my limits. I’m still growing in this area, because I’m far from there yet.

What did I have to develop to be able to live this way? I always thought I was patient, but in practice, that was quite disappointing. So: patience. Trust. Flexibility. And the ability to constantly adjust to what the moment demands, rather than what I’d hoped for. Sometimes that’s a small step back, sometimes a leap forward, but always in the rhythm of the sea.

Rajesh: The quality that has helped me the most is adaptability. Life at sea is full of surprises: the weather changes, plans fall apart, and things don’t always go as planned. But I’ve learned to stay calm, adapt quickly, and go with the flow. That flexibility has made this journey not only possible but also meaningful.

The trait that has helped me the least? Perhaps thinking too much. Sometimes I get caught up in my thoughts, worrying too much about the future or doubting myself, when I should just trust the moment and go with it.

But I don’t carry that burden alone. I have two fantastic captains as parents, people I rely on immensely when things aren’t going well. Their experience, wisdom, and steadfast presence remind me that I don’t have to figure everything out on my own. The sea continues to teach me: live in the moment, trust the process, and let go of what you can’t control. And every day I learn a little more.   

Jeroen: When I look at what has helped me most on this journey, there are three qualities that keep recurring. First of all, I’m a natural explorer. I always have the urge to seek out new experiences, whether it’s an unfamiliar island, a different way of life, or a new project on board. That curiosity is what allows me to not only endure this life but also truly enjoy it.

I also have a pretty persistent “can-do” mentality. Don’t give up too quickly, just start, try, and see how it goes along the way. That’s helped me in situations where we had to figure something out for ourselves – and that’s the rule rather than the exception on a boat. The idea that everything is solvable if you just start gives me peace and confidence.

My technical background also contributes enormously. I’m quite an all-rounder, so if something breaks, I see it more as a puzzle than a problem. From engine maintenance to electronics, from water supply to sail repairs, it helps enormously if you’re self-sufficient. Especially if you’re moored somewhere with no mechanic or shop nearby. It gives you a sense of freedom, but also of competence. You can manage. That’s worth a lot.

Of course, there are also traits that don’t help me as much. My procrastination, for example. I feel very responsible for the boat’s technical condition and pay a lot of attention to it. I try to think ahead and do preventative maintenance, but I often put off a job because I’m not in the mood for it. And then it turns out, in hindsight, that it wasn’t as complicated or annoying as I thought.

I also find myself getting impatient and stressed quickly when things don’t go as I’d hoped. Especially with technical jobs that involve working in tight spaces, in the heat, with sharp edges and awkward positions. If things don’t go my way, I quickly become frustrated. I know it doesn’t help, but it happens anyway. I find I thrive on projects like building sheds or a veranda, much more than diesel engines, pipes, or electrical work. But those are precisely the jobs I’ll be doing most often on a boat… 🥲

All of this probably also describes one of the few drawbacks to life on a sailboat for me. But even that’s part of it, and it makes the satisfaction all the greater afterward .

How do you experience ageing on board, physically, emotionally, and socially? And what does time mean to you now?

Jeroen: Physically, I feel absolutely fantastic. In the two years before departure, I had more physical problems than I do now, even though my fitness in the Netherlands was better than it is now. Because my work (renovating houses) was very physical, I had to work out daily; this is much less now. I feel better now because I underwent major back surgery just before departure and am now free of the nerve pain I had suffered for years. Fortunately, I rarely get sick, and the warm climate, combined with the healthy lifestyle on the boat, makes me feel younger rather than older.

Emotionally
There’s a lot of free time during our trip, and this makes me reflect more on life and myself. I try to better understand myself and the world we live in. I’ve noticed this makes me mentally stronger and I realize even more that choosing to travel was a truly good decision for me. However, this doesn’t mean it has to stay this way forever; time will tell. The freedom we experience is truly the greatest gift of this experiential lifestyle, but there are certainly downsides too: vulnerability to nature and our health, uncertainty about the future, responsibility for the boat and our safety, often without immediate help nearby.
For many people, growing older means security, a home, a fixed location, and a rhythm. This is very different for us now, and I like to believe it keeps us young a little longer 😇.
If we ever return to rural life in the Netherlands, I’m sure I’ll be stronger than before. However, the question is whether I can still adapt to the current hectic pace and regulatory pressure. Time will tell!

Social
As a sailor, you feel less part of a stable community or culture. You build friendships with other sailors, but these are often short-lived. We were fortunate enough to have two extended buddy boats and sailed together, first with Alex and Karin from Mabul and later with Barbara and Ralph from Lille Venn. You build deeper friendships this way, and I find this incredibly valuable. These friendships and the camaraderie together were a significant part of the success of our trip. I realize I don’t need a large group of friends in my life, but without some deep connections with friends and family, life would be rather bare, especially on a sailboat in an idyllic location.
Now that we’re away for longer and I’m naturally getting older, I’m looking forward to a 50/50 life. By that, I mean working 5-6 months in the Netherlands plus spending time with family and friends, followed by another 6-7 months at home on My Motu, hopefully with our buddy boat.

What does time mean to me?
We don’t have a busy schedule on board; at most, we have expiring visas and seasons to consider. There’s a generally set routine on board: wake up, breakfast, free time, lunch, exploring, boat maintenance, sundowner, dinner, games, watching TV, and sleep. Despite our quiet life, it feels like time is flying by. This feels wonderful and, for me, a sign that things are going well.
It might be a cliché, but we enjoy the little things: being together, catching a fish, the smell of freshly baked bread on board, watching the GoPro video of our last snorkeling adventure together, chatting with local fishermen, the sunset, and so on.
Time seems less important. Until something is about to change… Rajesh is going back to India; we don’t have much time left together. So time is precious, especially time spent with the people you love.

Aagje: Growing older on a sailboat is… intense. Not a slow fade, like life on land sometimes feels, but rather a sharpening. Everything comes closer: your body, your limits, your emotions, your choices. There’s nowhere to hide, not from each other, and not from yourself.

Physically, I notice it in my knees as I climb up and down the stairs for the hundredth time, in my shoulders as I reel in a heavy line, in the aches that used to disappear after a single night but now linger a bit longer. At the same time, I feel more alive than ever. My body matters: it moves, carries, endures. It works with the elements instead of fighting against them. That gives me strength.

Emotionally, I feel richer, with insight, gentleness, and trust. I don’t have to prove so much anymore. Not to myself, not to others. I’m allowed to be tired. I’m allowed to be sad. And I’m allowed to enjoy life without guilt. Perhaps that’s the greatest gift of growing older: the permission to simply be, without masks.

Socially, it can be challenging at times. Life at sea is full of encounters, but also of farewells. Sometimes I miss the naturalness of being together. At the same time, this life brings deep, unexpected connections, not crowded halls, but meaningful encounters. And that means a lot to me.

The sea teaches me that time doesn’t count, only moments do.

Rajesh: Growing older abroad feels different. Life at sea has made me physically stronger, but it’s also exhausting; there’s no pause button in this life.

Emotionally, I’ve become more independent and aware of who I am. Being away from home teaches you to reflect, slow down, and appreciate the little things.

Socially, it’s a mix: I meet wonderful people from all over the world, but I also often have to say goodbye. The connections are brief, but meaningful. It’s not always easy, but it’s real, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

As for time, it no longer feels like something to chase. It feels like something to live in. Here, time moves with the wind and the waves… and I’ve learned to flow with it.

Are there times when you wonder, “How long are we going to do this?”

Aagje: Yes , that question has been coming up more often lately. Not because I don’t want to anymore, or because life at sea doesn’t resonate with me as much, but because something is changing. I’ve talked about it a lot with Barbara, who actually wants to return to land. I don’t feel that way yet, but her questions do get me thinking.

The fact that Rajesh will soon be building his own life in India is a major turning point. For three years, we were a team of three, each with its own rhythm and flavor. His departure feels like letting go of an anchor: lovingly, with trust, but also with a certain emptiness. At the same time, it opens up new possibilities. There are countries that were difficult for him to travel to because of visas, and soon Jeroen and I will be able to go there. Not because we have to, but because the choices are different now.

Having two of us on board takes some getting used to, but it also creates space to find a new rhythm together. It’s part of life at sea: people come and go, and every change requires a fresh start. We don’t have to decide today how long we’ll continue. For now, it feels good, and that’s enough. The sea has no rush, only space.

Rajesh: Yes, we often ask that question, especially during long sea crossings or during tranquil sunsets. Sometimes I wonder if this is a life I can live forever. Other times, it feels like I’m meant to be. But I don’t plan too far ahead. I don’t decide by the year or by the ocean. I follow my instincts.

I’m still young, and I know I’ll have to go back to land soon, to work and build something more stable . It’s a reality I’m slowly accepting. But right now, I don’t sense an end point. Not yet. Perhaps one day the sea will whisper, “It’s time.” Until then, I sail.

Jeroen: Absolutely. I know that my needs and goals in life change every three to five years. After that, it often starts to itch: I get bored or start to get annoyed by little things that didn’t matter before. I recognize that pattern now. 
I secretly hope that it will lessen over the years , that I can continue to enjoy what I have a little longer, without having to look for something new again. But for now? For now, I don’t want anything else at all. This life, this way, just feels good.

If we were to stop sailing now and live on land, what would you miss most?

Aagje: I would miss the freedom. The endless horizon. The feeling that you can wake up somewhere different every day, simply because the wind decides. I would miss the silence of the ocean, the night watches with only the stars for company, the realization that you are a tiny dot in a big world and that that is just enough.

I would long for the ritual of weighing anchor, the smell of freshly baked bread in the morning, the salt on my skin, the lapping of the water against the hull as I cook. And I would miss our shared life: the constant searching, deciding, and coordinating together. No distractions, no rush, just us and the sea.

Rajesh: If we stopped sailing today, I would miss the rhythm of the sea, the gentle sound of water against the hull, the freedom to explore new horizons, the vibrant underwater world, and the endless skies that make you feel both small and infinite. I would miss the unpredictability, the solitude, and the deep connection with nature.

But honestly… I’d quietly enjoy some simple comforts. Solid ground under my feet, the chance to regularly connect with familiar faces, and the stability of a place I can call home for a while. And maybe, just maybe, being able to plan ahead without checking the weather first. 

Jeroen : without a doubt, Nature is always and everywhere around you. Waking up to the sunrise over the water, the sound of birdsong, the smell of salt in the air. That direct contact with the elements is so special and practically irreplaceable. 
And of course: no traffic jams. No rush from A to B. No busy roads or endless appointments.

But I’d also enjoy the opportunity to tackle new projects again. Building, doing odd jobs, creating something new—that still appeals to me. Maybe renovating a house, converting an old barn, or just enjoying riding my motorcycle again.

And above all: being able to spend more time with friends and family. Just dropping by, having dinner together, catching up for an evening without having to worry about where the nearest dinghy is. That connection remains important.

What would you say to someone who is wondering if this life is for them?

Aagje: Doubt isn’t a sign you shouldn’t do something. Often, it’s the beginning of something real, something bigger than yourself. Because life at sea isn’t just a dream of swaying palm trees, dolphins, and sunsets. It’s also salt in your eyes, broken propellers, sleepless nights, and a toilet that clogs just when you’re in a hurry. But that’s precisely where the magic lies.

You truly live here. You feel everything more raw, more intensely. A cup of coffee in the morning sun becomes special. A hot shower feels like a spa. The silence of the night becomes a space where you can hear yourself think. And when, after days at sea, you see land looming on the horizon… you know: i have done this .

You learn to recognize your fears, push your boundaries, and collaborate with people and nature. You become humbled by the lack of control, but also empowered by the realization of your potential. And perhaps most importantly, you rediscover yourself, free from distractions and outside expectations.

So if you’re in doubt… don’t worry. Doubt is part of life. But don’t let it hold you back. Don’t seek certainty, because you won’t find it anywhere, especially not at sea. Seek truth. Your truth. And believe me: the sea will help you find it. Sometimes lovingly, sometimes mercilessly, but always honestly.

Is this life for you? You’ll only know… when you let go.

Rajesh: I’d say: give it a try, but be fair. The sea isn’t for everyone, and that’s okay. It’s not always comfortable or easy. It will test your patience, your boundaries, and your sense of control.

But if you are willing to let go of routine, live with uncertainty, and find beauty in simplicity, this life can change you.

For me, the essence of life at sea is freedom. It’s waking up with the sunrise, living in harmony with nature’s rhythm, discovering who you are when everything else is taken away. It’s not about luxury, it’s about presence. It’s pure, genuine, and unforgettable. You only know if it’s right for you when you feel it yourself. But if it is… you never want to go back. 

Jeroen: This life isn’t easy, but it is incredibly rewarding. You learn a lot from it—about yourself, about the world, and about what truly matters. That’s why I’d recommend it to anyone who has a practical mindset, loves adventure, and prefers experience over luxury.

At first, we thought we were doing something special, but now we know we’re just one of many. There are tens of thousands of sailors like us, young and old, with or without children, who have been living this way for years and thoroughly enjoy it.

So: just try it. Even if it’s only for a few years. You’ll become wiser and more resilient, and you’ll suddenly truly appreciate the little things you always took for granted.

Three years sailing

It sounds like a number, a time period, a travelogue. But in reality, it’s a life, not captured in miles or destinations, but in experiences that have nestled deep within our hearts. In moments when we encountered ourselves, got to know each other better, and discovered that who we thought we were was only the beginning of who we can truly become.

The sea has changed us. Not by giving us something new, but by stripping away, layer by layer, what we no longer needed. What remains is not an end point, but a core. An anchor. Something solid, something real.

What we found along the way weren’t ready-made answers, but a different way of seeing things—at ourselves, at each other, and at the world. We learned to live in the moment, with the beauty and the discomfort, making choices based on trust, even without knowing where they would lead us.

And now? Now we sail on. Perhaps to a new horizon, perhaps to a place to stay longer. The maps are open. The wind will tell us. Because this life teaches us one thing: you only determine a small part of your own course… the rest is going with the flow.

The sea knows no end, only new chapters.