When I come across someone I haven鈥檛 seen in a while, they often ask me, 鈥淗ow鈥檚 your health?鈥� They are asking about the genetic defect that causes muscles throughout my body to continuously disappear. If you want to know more about my weakness, google , and you鈥檒l learn how this progressive听disease sometimes leaves me too weak to even close my eyes, smile, or kiss the people I love. But I prefer to focus on my strengths. Like my ability to adapt equipment or discover new techniques to accomplish tasks like raising sails or moving around a听boat.

For example, I听used to get stuck听while taking off a T-shirt because my arms were too weak to lift it over my head.听I鈥檇 end up walking around with the shirt half over my head, my arms pinned inside like a straightjacket, banging into furniture and walls until my wife, Nicole, or a friend would free me. Now I bend forward, fling my arms up听to catch the bottom of the shirt, then let gravity pull my arms down and the shirt听off.听I use a similar trick for washing my hair.听It鈥檚 half yoga and half Houdini.

Seven years ago, when 国产吃瓜黑料 named me its听Reader of the Year,听I wrote that 鈥淚鈥檓 screaming within, like a captured animal slamming itself against the walls of its cage.鈥� Now听I鈥檓 in my mid-forties, and since then, a few things have changed. Nicole听and I got a small sailboat in 2012, and in 2014, we set off from San Diego to sail听across the Pacific Ocean. Four years and 15,000 miles of open-ocean adventures have flung the door to my cage wide open and let me discover some profound truths about myself.

For example, I like watching goats.

Nicole and I once spent five months anchored in a tiny secluded bay of听one of the most remote Polynesian islands in the South Pacific. The island was a rugged paradise with steep cliffs and mountains, heavy vegetation, and not much else. The bay was exposed to open-ocean swells, so our boat was always rolling, pitching, and bobbing. It was far from comfortable, but the movement reminded us that the ocean is alive. When those swells reached the head of the bay, they unleashed upon a shallow reef and formed an incredibly fun wave.听The cliffs surrounding the bay had dozens of feral goats who听spent their days skittering around from rock to rock, happily living uncomplicated听lives.

For three of the five months we were anchored in the bay, I did not set听foot on land, simply because I didn鈥檛 see a need to.听We would wake up, practice yoga, meditate, watch goats, surf, eat, do boat work, read and write, make love, and sleep. Not necessarily in that order.

It wasn鈥檛 easy. The days were intensely hot that close to the equator. We ate fruit and fished听near the boat, but if we couldn鈥檛 catch anything, our diet was reduced to canned food and rice. Our only source of fresh water was what we made from the sea. To power the desalinator, a machine that makes drinking water from sea water,听we had to maintain a robust solar-electrical system, on a moving boat, in a salty environment. We had no internet access, phone service, television, or AM/FM radio. Our only connection to the outside world was via our long-distance high-frequency radio, and that only worked when atmospheric conditions allowed our signal to propagate. There were no doctors, no police, no stores, no anything.

While we were there, Nicole flew to the U.S. for a month to visit family for the first time since we sailed away. At first I was terrified. I was alone on a small boat without the strength to get back on board if I accidentally fell in the water.听There was no easy way for me to swim to shore. The year before, 50 percent of the indigenous population in these islands听had contracted dengue fever, and when you鈥檙e alone and have听muscular systrophy, dengue fever is an almost certain death sentence. There were big sharks. And sharp coral. And relentless heat. And constant rolling. And palpable isolation.

But the more time I spent alone in that bay, the more I came听to realize that discomfort and fear can be a gift. They听kept me sharp, and that helped听keep me safe. I soon understood my excessive fear was fueled by endless thoughts of what-ifs instead of what is.听Rather than focus on the countless ways I could suffer and die, I chose to focus on the fact that I was alive and well. My mind became calm and clear. Each moment became an intense celebration of life. While I watched the goats I realized I was not听actually alone but听part of something infinite and incredible. It was the happiest I have ever been.

The ocean is a powerful filter. Every sailor we met in those听remote places had听made a choice and crossed a massive body of water. Despite our different听boats, levels of experience, personal beliefs, financial worth, genders, ages,听or languages, every one of us faced our fears and decided听to untie the dock lines and sail into the unknown.

Fear can be a gift, but it can also be a cage. Ultimately, it is your choice. There鈥檚 no going back once you understand that fact. For some people, that鈥檚 an incentive. For others, it鈥檚 an excuse.

But how is my health? It鈥檚 pretty good, thanks for asking! I鈥檓 starting to stumble when I walk. I swim more slowly than ever. When our boat leans听to one side, I end up with my face smashed against the hull because my arms are too weak to check my fall. Every day I become less physically able to live this lifestyle with a modicum of safety or comfort. But my skin is clear, and I don鈥檛 have any cavities. Whether you鈥檙e dealing with carbon fiber or coconuts, we鈥檙e all going to die. So let me ask you something:听How is your health?

We recently听bought a boat that is bigger, faster, more powerful, and more stable听than our old boat, all traits that make the new vessel听better suited for my remaining level of physical ability so we can continue our adventures in the South Pacific. I鈥檓 looking forward to getting back out there among听the waves and goats, with my hot wife and fellow sailors, to places where life is something to celebrate, not just survive.

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