End-of-Year Reflection from a Sailboat in Cabo Verde

Another ride around the sun.

I’m writing this from the cockpit of Santana, anchored off Tarrafal, São Nicolau. I’m sitting in the shade, the sun is doing its hot sun thing, there’s barely any movement in the air, and I can hear those gentle waves clapping against the hull like the ocean is slow-applauding our anchorage choice.

The end of the year always does something to me.

I have some of my best memories tied to Christmas — not because it was big or fancy, but because it was simple. Long walks. Time. Everyone relaxed. Evenings where nobody tried to “optimize” anything. We’d sit together, talk, laugh, and go to bed only when we were actually tired. That kind of simple.

At some point (I don’t even know when) the season got hijacked by expectations.

What the food has to be like. That you have to go to church. How many presents are expected. Which dishes have to be used for dinner — as if the wrong plate could ruin the entire holiday. Most of it feels like rules nobody remembers agreeing to, but everybody still follows… and then wonders why they’re stressed.

In Germany and Switzerland it’s also the darkest, coldest time of the year, which doesn’t exactly make people easier to be around. Business slows down too, and that quiet creates space — sometimes the good kind, sometimes the kind where your mind starts opening drawers you didn’t plan to look into.

And then, just to make sure it’s not too calm, I also have my birthday in there. So I do what many of us do: I look back. I take stock. I ask myself if I’m where I want to be — and what I want to change before the next lap begins.

Looking back now, it’s been a seriously adventurous year again.

There were lows. And there were dreams I reached that I’m not sure I would’ve reached on my own.

Tanzania: Closing the Door

One of the biggest achievements for me — and it’s not the kind you put on a résumé — is that I finally walked away from my Tanzania businesses.

I stopped trying to fix things. I stopped negotiating with reality. I admitted the sunk costs.

In 2023, after being betrayed of my business for the third time in five years, I finally accepted what I didn’t want to accept: I had lost everything I ever invested there. That was the moment where something in me just… closed the door.

It was a hell of a ride. And only now, with a bit of distance, I can see the beauty inside it too — the red dirt roads, the dark green vegetation, that impossible blue sky and ocean with white clouds sprinkled over it like someone got carried away with a paintbrush.

Stepping away created space. And space is a blessing… until it shows you what you’ve been avoiding.

Because the low point this year was realizing how much I’d neglected the life I’m actually living now — especially my coaching. Not just the work itself, but the outreach, the momentum, the new clients. The part that keeps the whole thing alive.

And I spiraled a bit, because the thought that kept looping was brutal:

I’ve been here before. How can it be that I’m here again? I won’t make it out this time.

The First Step Out

That’s the funny part about life. You don’t just solve something once and graduate forever. You meet the same themes again and again — just with new scenery, new weather, and slightly different consequences.

It can be frustrating, because you recognize the trap.

But it’s also a chance. Because if you’ve been there before, you also know the exit exists.

You can’t always change what happens. But you can change what you do next — and whether you make it worse by fighting reality for three extra days before you finally accept it.

Which brings me to Nike.

She didn’t “fix” anything. She didn’t lecture me. She didn’t judge. She simply put trust in me, stayed close, and helped me take the first step out.

And that first step mattered.

The change was simple and unglamorous: I started sitting down every single day and creating — texts, articles, invitations, content, workshops. One step. Then the next. And at some point you look back and realize you’re moving again.

So — where are we right now?

After a long summer break from sailing, I went back to El Hierro in early September, worked on Santana, and got her ready for the season. In October I sailed solo to La Gomera and spent a few weeks that felt almost like summer — exploring canyons and mountains.

One canyon scene is burned into my memory: red rugged stone walls, maybe a 1000 meters high, blue sky above, and the bottom covered in green vegetation like someone laid a soft carpet down there.

From La Gomera I sailed to Las Palmas to stock up on things I assumed would be hard to get later. At the end of November I headed to Tenerife to pick up Nike, who flew in to join.

Early December we left on a rough passage to Palmeira on Sal, Cabo Verde — strong wind and a nasty cross sea that left us seasick and humbled. We stayed through Christmas, and then pushed on again.

Now we’re here, off São Nicolau — and for the first time in a while, it actually feels like summer: warm, clear water, calmer air, sunshine that doesn’t feel like a rare event. I’ve picked up office work again and I’m curious about the next steps: Santa Luzia, Mindelo on São Vicente, and Santo Antão.

Leaving the Mediterranean, sailing the North Atlantic, and reaching my second African country on Santana still feels huge.

Some moments stamp themselves into you. Approaching Rabat through the Bouregreg River is one of them.

This year we’re planning to approach another African river — and most likely sail more than 100 kilometers inland.

Which one?

That’s still a surprise.

But my plan is clear: go slower. Stay longer. Explore more on foot. More hikes, more bike rides, maybe even a few overnight trips. Less “collecting places,” more actually being there.

Stay curious, stay salty.

– Floh