This week marks my final week aboard Celtic Cross and the last time I’ll send a newsletter from her.

By the time this goes out on Sunday, I will have left her behind in Charleston after a little more than three years of living aboard and traveling up and down the eastern seaboard, from the Bahamas to Nova Scotia and a lot of places in between.

It has been an amazing journey.

There were thousands of miles sailed, countless anchorages, long passages, beautiful days, difficult days, things that broke, things I learned how to fix, and more hours than I could possibly count simply watching the water and the waves go by.

You do a lot of thinking out there.

Somewhere in all those hours alone at sea, this became as much a journey of self-discovery as it was one measured in nautical miles. I learned a lot about sailing, but I probably learned even more about myself.

On Friday, I closed the transaction and sold Celtic Cross back to the owner I bought her from a little over three years ago. There is a certain symmetry to that which feels right. He knows this boat, he cares about her, and I know she is going back to someone who will appreciate her.

There's an old saying that the two happiest days in a boat owner's life are the day they buy the boat and the day they sell it.

I'm not sure I agree with that.

I'm genuinely excited about what comes next, and I know that selling Celtic Cross is the right decision for me. But that doesn't make leaving her any easier. For three years, she's been my home, my transportation, my refuge, and my companion through some pretty remarkable experiences. She's taken care of me through thousands of miles, and I've done my best to take care of her.

There's a real sadness in walking away from something that's been such a big part of my life. I suppose you can be ready for what's next and still be sad about what you're leaving behind.

When I bought Celtic Cross, I set out to do something. I wanted to live aboard a sailboat, travel, explore, and find out whether I could handle the challenges that came with it—especially doing much of it alone.

I did it.

But over the past year, other things have increasingly been pulling at me. There are new goals I want to pursue, both professionally and personally. Earlier this year, I decided I wasn't going to rush the decision. I would give myself the time and miles to think about what I wanted the next chapter of my life to look like.

And eventually, I knew it was time.

What I will remember most, though, isn't necessarily the places. It's the people.

There are people reading this newsletter whom I never would have met if I hadn't bought Celtic Cross. People I've sailed with, played music with, shared meals and drinks with, worked on boats with, and simply sat around talking with. Some were part of the journey for a few hours, others for weeks or months, and some became close friends.

That alone made all of this worthwhile.

So this will be the final edition of Celtic Crossings.

I've shared this journey for the past year because I thought there might be something worthwhile in telling the story as it happened—the good parts, the difficult parts, the mistakes, the repairs, the passages, and occasionally the lessons buried somewhere inside all of it.

If any of that inspired someone reading this to try something they've been wondering whether they could do, then I'm glad I wrote it.

You don't have to sail a boat alone. You don't have to cross across the waves or live aboard for three years. Whatever the thing is that you've been looking at from a distance and wondering whether you're capable of doing, sometimes the only way to find out is to go try.

That's certainly what I did.

Thank you for following along. Thank you to everyone who helped me, sailed with me, played music with me, welcomed me into a harbor, read these stories, or simply sent a note telling me you enjoyed them.

It's been quite a ride.

And I'm ready to see where the next one takes me.