There are some dreams that age quietly with us.
They may get pushed aside by work, family, responsibilities, health, and the simple business of living.
But every once in a while, something awakens them again.
For me, one of those dreams has always been the sea.
I have owned sailboats. I have felt a boat heel under a good wind, watched the shoreline disappear
behind me, and experienced that wonderful moment when the engine is shut down and the only
sounds are the wind, the water, and the creaking of the boat.
Even at 82 years old, I can look at a chart of the Atlantic or Caribbean and find myself wondering:
Could I still do it?
Could an 82-year-old man climb aboard a properly equipped sailboat, point the bow toward the
horizon, and cross an ocean?
I believe the answer is yes.
But there is a much more important question:
Should he?
Age Doesn't Automatically End the Adventure
We have a tendency to put expiration dates on people.
At 60, you're supposed to slow down.
At 70, you're supposed to take it easy.
At 80, apparently you're supposed to sit in a recliner and talk about everything you used to do.
I've never been very good at that.
I served four years in the United States Marine Corps. I've worked as a news photographer, worked
offshore, spent decades in the oilfield, started businesses, built homes, sailed boats, raised a
family, experienced success and failure, lost things and started over.
Life has taught me that human beings are often capable of considerably more than they think they are.
Being 82 doesn't erase that.
But age does change the calculation.
The Ocean Doesn't Care How Old You Are
The sea has no respect for birthdays.
It doesn't care whether you're 22 or 82.
A squall doesn't become gentler because an old man is at the helm. A broken halyard doesn't repair
itself because your knees hurt. An engine problem doesn't wait until you've had a good night's sleep.
Offshore sailing can mean being wet, tired, cold, bruised, seasick, and sleep-deprived.
Sometimes all at once.
A younger sailor may recover quickly after wrestling with a sail at 2:00 in the morning. At 82, recovery
isn't necessarily as quick.
That doesn't mean an older sailor cannot make the voyage.
It means he had better respect the voyage.
Experience Can Replace Some Muscle
There is something an older sailor may have that the younger sailor doesn't:
Experience.
I've learned over eight decades that brute strength is often what we use when we haven't planned
well enough.
A properly prepared offshore boat can reduce much of the physical work.
Good self-steering, reliable navigation equipment, roller furling, sensible reefing systems, properly
placed
lines, dependable communications, good ground tackle, and equipment that can be handled
from the cockpit can make an enormous difference.
The objective isn't to prove you're still 25.
You're not.
The objective is to use the judgment you've gained during the other 57 years.
At my age, I wouldn't want to overpower the ocean.
I'd want to work with it.
The Greatest Danger May Be Pride
One of the hardest things for an older man to admit is:
I can't do everything I once could.
There's no shame in that.
The mistake would be pretending otherwise.
If I were seriously preparing for an ocean crossing today, I would have to evaluate myself as
carefully as I evaluated the boat.
Could I move around safely in rough weather?
Could I climb back aboard if I went overboard?
Could I function after several nights of interrupted sleep?
Could I repair something important while the boat was rolling?
Could I handle an unexpected medical problem hundreds of miles offshore?
And perhaps most importantly:
Would I recognize when conditions were telling me to turn around?
There was a time when determination meant pushing ahead.
At 82, wisdom sometimes means knowing when not to.
I Wouldn't Have Anything to Prove
This may be one of the greatest advantages of attempting something like this later in life.
I wouldn't be trying to impress anyone.
I wouldn't need to set a record.
I wouldn't need to prove that an 82-year-old man could beat the Atlantic.
I would reef early.
I would wait for weather.
I would choose the safest route rather than the fastest one.
I would probably prefer another capable sailor aboard rather than trying to prove I could do
everything alone.
And if circumstances told me the voyage should end in the next harbor, that's where it would end.
Coming home safely is more important than bragging rights.
But What About the Dream?
That's the part that becomes harder to explain.
Anyone who has truly loved sailing understands it.
Sometimes I can still imagine standing in the cockpit before sunrise.
There is nothing around me but water.
The sky is beginning to lighten in the east. The sails are drawing. The boat is moving steadily
through a long ocean swell.
Behind me is one continent.
Somewhere beyond the horizon is another.
And for that moment, an 82-year-old man isn't thinking very much about being 82.
He's simply sailing.
There is something beautiful about that thought.
Dreams Don't Always Have to Be Completed
This may be the lesson age has taught me.
When I was younger, I thought a dream had only two possible endings:
You accomplished it, or you failed.
I don't believe that anymore.
Sometimes a dream changes.
Sometimes circumstances change.
Sometimes the people we love need us more than we need another adventure.
Sometimes wisdom tells us that the voyage we imagined isn't the voyage we're supposed to make.
That doesn't make the dream meaningless.
The dream itself may have kept something alive inside us.
Curiosity.
Courage.
Hope.
The desire to see what's beyond the horizon.
So, Could I Still Cross an Ocean at 82?
Maybe.
With the right boat, the right preparation, the right weather, the right crew, and the physical
ability to handle the demands, I believe age alone doesn't make an ocean crossing impossible.
But I have learned something far more important during these 82 years:
Just because you can do something doesn't always mean you should.
And deciding not to make a voyage isn't necessarily surrender.
Sometimes it takes more wisdom to stay at the dock than it does to cast off the lines.
Still, every now and then, I'll look at a sailboat and wonder.
I'll picture the sails filling.
I'll imagine the shoreline becoming smaller behind me.
And somewhere inside this 82-year-old man, that young Marine who once believed the whole world was waiting beyond the
horizon is still there.
Maybe that's the real lesson.
Growing older doesn't mean you have to stop dreaming.
Your body may eventually tell you there are places you shouldn't go.
Circumstances may tell you there are adventures you shouldn't take.
But nobody gets to tell you that you're too old to look toward the horizon and wonder:
What if?
— Michael Cunningham Sr.
