I am still satisfied with the answer I gave that day. But, armed with my current dilemma, I might have added, "Even for those young enough to appear free of responsibilities, even for those folks who seem to have all the money they could need, breaking away at any time in your life is not easy." I recall the very first time Larry and I actually had to make the break from shore life. We owned almost nothing but the 24-foot-4-inch boat we'd just finished building. As soon as Seraffyn was launched, we moved on board to avoid paying rent, so had no home to dispose of and few possessions to consider. Larry was a professional sailor with several ocean trips under his belt, so there was little concern about his skill level. Armed with his experience maintaining charter boats, we'd decided on a minimalist approach to control our budget, thus had very little to shop for or install. We had enough money in the bank for five or six months of cruising, and the offer of interesting jobs if we decided to sail back to Newport Beach, California. Then someone offered us a contract that could have, with just six or eight months' work, netted us enough money to keep cruising for four or five years. Of course, our compatriots said we'd be crazy to turn it down. My parents were thrilled at the idea that I might not leave so soon, or maybe have time to reconsider and not go at all. Larry and I spent two restless weeks making lists of pros and cons. Then I remembered a small book by pop philosopher Alan Watts, The Wisdom of Insecurity. "When you reach the figure that you once felt would be enough," Watts explained, "you'll worry about losing it or your needs changing so it might not be sufficient." I read this to Larry one morning, and that settled it — we left with what we had and never once looked back.