A few weeks ago, I was on a yacht with family.
A celebration. Everyone laughing. Food, music — the kind of afternoon that feels like a pause button on life.
I was sitting at the stern, looking out.
Because on the horizon — Singapore's high seas — there were big ships. Massive. Moving slowly. Going somewhere.
I remember thinking: is the yacht a place to stay, or a place you leave from?
Nobody was asking that question. The party was happening. The water around us was calm and clean and safe.
The ships on the horizon didn't care.
Singapore Strait, late evening
That moment stayed with me.
Then last weekend, I was reading Verne Harnish's Scaling Up and found a poem tucked inside — written by Daisy Rinehart, over a hundred years ago.
Far inside of the harbor bar;
I want to be out where the big ships float —
Out on the deep where the Great Ones are!
And should my frail craft prove too slight
For storms that sweep those wide seas o'er,
Better go down in the stirring fight
Than drowse to death by the sheltered shore! — Daisy Rinehart
I put the book down.
She had seen the same horizon.
The yacht is beautiful. The yacht is where the people you love feel safe. The yacht is everything most people work their whole lives to afford.
But the big ships aren't at anchor.
They're moving. Carrying weight. Going somewhere that requires navigating open water — not staying inside the bar.
I know which one I'm built for.
The hard part isn't the deep water.
The hard part is leaving a good party on a calm afternoon.
What this might mean for you
Most of us have a yacht. It looks different for everyone — a stable job that pays well, a business that's comfortable enough, a life that's good by every visible measure. There's nothing wrong with the yacht. The question is whether you've ever asked yourself: is this where I'm meant to stay, or is this where I'm meant to leave from?
You don't have to have an answer. But I think it's worth sitting with the question on a calm afternoon — before the horizon makes the decision for you.