A few weeks ago, I flew to England to help the Hound team celebrate her third west to east Transatlantic crossing. Five hours into the flight, I woke to find dawn breaking outside the airplane window—and immediately checked the race tracker: we were directly over the boat! Of course all I could actually see below was empty blue, but I still got chills—which prompted a text to Nick, the boat’s onboard reporter: “I’m flying over you right now!” He immediately texted back: “Watch change! Everyone says hi” with a waving emoji. For the next hour I continued to stare out the window, visualizing a familiar vessel crossing that vast ocean 35,000 feet below—which required no imagination at all, thanks to Nick’s fantastic drone shots.
The race finished in Cowes, and when I arrived there the next day I was honored with an invitation out onto the platform at the Royal Yacht Squadron—home of the first America’s Cup race—to watch other boats completing the race. After 3000 miles, three crossed the historic line within minutes of each other—probably the closest finish since the race began in 1866. As each cannon fired in welcome, I knew I was exactly where I was meant to be—and even better prepared to greet my favorite team whenever they finished.
Unfortunately a pre-dawn arrival meant no cannon blast for Hound, but her friends and family cheered as loudly as we could from our RIB before escorting them into the dock. After two weeks together you’d think those 13 tired sailors would have been eager to escape each other’s company; instead, after a few hours of much-needed sleep, we found ourselves all clustered together around an outdoor picnic table, taking up a space only a little bigger than the boat’s main cabin. They had crossed an ocean together, and they weren’t yet ready to return to their normal, separate, lives. Again, exactly where I was meant to be.
Hound’s next adventure will be her very first Fastnet Race—on that same famous line, off the Royal Yacht Squadron. Lofty new goals aren’t usually expected of middle-aged matrons, but I’m sure she will do both her crew and her many devoted fans proud. And while I’m sad I won’t be at the finish line to greet them, I will be cheering them on from our annual Maine escape. Bittersweet perhaps, but also exactly where I’m meant to be . . . and, thanks to technology and Nick’s fantastic photos, requiring no more imagination than that airplane-window perspective of 35,000 feet.
Got a moment that stuck out for you as “exactly where I should be”? Share it in the comments below, or send me an email. I read every single one, with gratitude. See you next Thursday!
Well, Carol, I played a music gig for a town event yesterday at Jamestown’s Fort Getty…..and your phrase now comes to mind. I love the island and, while not a resident, I was exactly where I was meant to be. Does this count?
Larry, absolutely! Just as I was a visitor in Hamble/Cowes, you don’t have to live there to be where you’re meant to be. So glad for both of us!