Cruising Couples & The Power of Shutting Up

The author and his wife, Joy Archer, savor an accomplished moment together after a climb in Fiji’s Bay of Islands. Joy Archer

Long-distance cruising isn’t for everyone, and there is no iron-clad argument that your partner will join you in cutting the dock lines. After all, your partner’s resistance might be based on a tangle of finances, fears, family, friends or physical worries. 

But there are some strategies that can help your partner transform reluctance into excitement. Getting my wife on board with my dreams of cruising adventures involved a slow, thoughtful process. I encouraged her to open her eyes to the wonder and possibility of bluewater cruising.

Here are four things I did that helped my partner accept and embrace the cruising life.

Make It Seem Normal

There’s no mainstream model for the cruising life, so it can be practically impossible to imagine. Most stories in the media about sailors include the word “rescue.” Making the idea of bluewater cruising more normal can also make it less scary. More manageable. More possible. And, ­eventually, more likely.

From the time Joy and I met, she was well aware of my passion for bluewater sailing. She was mildly interested, but in a way that could easily evaporate if I let it drop. So, I didn’t let it drop. 

I talked to her about my dream to sail oceans. We walked docks and boatyards. I shared passages from books, snippets of articles, and video clips. I always tried to remember that less is more. I didn’t want to overwhelm her. I wanted to make this extraordinary lifestyle seem almost ho-hum.

When we sailed our local waters for a few days or weeks, we chatted about what it might be like to go a bit farther. To stay out a little longer. Evenings at anchor lend themselves nicely to this kind of dream weaving.

Making the idea of bluewater cruising more normal can also make it less scary. More manageable. And, eventually, more likely.

I tried not to overdo it. I watched for signs that she was bored or overwhelmed. At first, those signs were anything but rare. When I could see that she’d had enough of the boat thing, I was happy to move on to other topics.

It took a long while, but all this talking and gawking, watching, roaming and reading helped her to normalize the idea of cruising. It wasn’t just my harebrained idea; it was something that people—regular people—actually chose to do.

Talk Less, Listen More

I asked her questions about the boats we saw. About the sailors we met. About the places she’d like to visit. About the opinions we heard. About how all this made her feel about the very idea of long-distance cruising.

And here’s the important part: I listened to her answers. I kept my mouth shut. (It was hard to do.) I redirected my impulse to interrupt into the simple motion of nodding my head. When she said that she was worried about leaving family and friends, I nodded. Just that. I didn’t try to minimize it, offer options or suggest solutions. I just nodded.

When she said she was frightened by the idea of being so far from land on such a tiny boat, I looked into her eyes and nodded. I could see her anxiety. I wanted so badly to say something, anything to minimize the fear. To make it better. To fix it. But I bit my tongue and focused on what she was sharing with me.

If listening like that comes easy for you, then you have a superpower. It sure doesn’t come easy for me.

What I learned is that if your partner can see that you get it, that you really understand their fears, anxieties and worries, then they can more easily let that stuff go. If you dismiss these issues by trying to fix them, by waving them off as irrational, then you force your partner to keep trying to explain, to keep trying to get you to understand. It’s a cruel cycle. And it gets you nowhere.

The big payoff from all this listening and incessant ­nodding is that I learned a lot. 

I learned that for her, cruising would be more about people than passages. I learned that feeling secure was more important than going fast. I learned that while simplicity is a virtue, she isn’t particularly into peeing in a bucket. I found out that she was excited by the process of provisioning. That she wasn’t even remotely intimidated by the challenge of creating delicious meals in a dinky galley. And that she had a deep and abiding fear of laundry.

The author learned that his wife was more interested in people than passages, making this gathering in American Samoa a good fit for both. Joy Archer

A critical side note is that back then, she didn’t call it a galley. She called it a “kitchen.” And she called the head the “bathroom.” And she called the stateroom a “bedroom.” Resist, resist, resist the urge to correct your partner’s terminology. At least in the beginning. 

If you don’t, you’ll miss important stuff. The words will come.

Get Out of the Way

Give your partner the space they need to find their own way. This might actually be harder than the nodding thing, but it’s equally important.

Early on, I spent a lot of time sharing my love of sailing and cruising. I freely shared what I knew. What I thought. What I thought I knew. And when Joy expressed those first real glimmers of interest, I was ecstatic. 

It didn’t take long to ­recognize that my enthusiasm for cruising left little room for my partner to find her own excitement. I needed to temper my enthusiasm and let her make her own discoveries, reach her own conclusions. 

She attended a couple of sailing seminars for women, and I didn’t bug her for all the details. I saw a book about sailing on her nightstand, and I didn’t mention it. When she signed up to take a sailing class on her own, I resisted the urge to do cartwheels. 

If I wanted us to walk down this path together, I had to resist the urge to dash ahead of her. I needed to slow my pace to match hers. And in many cases, slow down enough to let her take the lead.

By slowing myself down, by getting out of her way, Joy was able to see details that I had just skimmed over. Or missed completely. Details that were important to her—and, subsequently, to us. 

Cede Control

Don’t let being “captain” go to your head (see: Bligh, William; captain, Royal Navy). Share the responsibilities whenever possible. 

And I’m not referring to the old trope of “blue jobs” and “pink jobs.” I’m not talking about “jobs” at all. 

Whenever possible, I let Joy take the lead. It works something like this: I make the ultimate decisions about departure windows and routes. I involve Joy in these decisions. We talk it through. I share my reasoning. I listen and act based on her concerns. But ultimately, I make those decisions.

Joy is OK with this, but she chafes at lacking control. So we created some balance. Joy controls our itinerary once we arrive in a country or an island group. She assumes the responsibility of deciding which atolls and anchorages we’ll explore.

To be clear, this is not a revolving dictatorship. We talk about all of this. We share points of view and trust each other to speak up if there is a problem. We make ­accommodations for each of our interests.

Joy was able to see details that I just skimmed over. Or missed completely. Details that were important to her—and, subsequently, to us.

We both need to feel in ­control. Neither of us is content to just be along for the ride. For us, this way of balancing control works quite well. And we’ve kept the balance of control as we’ve ­explored the Pacific from Mexico to New Zealand. 

Your results may vary. But if you can start with normalizing the idea of cruising and then truly listen to your partner’s concerns, you’ll be on your way. Give your partner space to explore various aspects of cruising on their own, and then identify areas where they can be in control. 

These deceptively simple steps can move you toward your cruising dream with an enthusiastic partner on board.

Harry Pattison and Joy Archer sail aboard a 44-foot Mason launched in 1988. They are circumnavigating the Pacific Ocean. When they’re at home, Pattison runs sail training for couples in and around Puget Sound. Learn more at ­matesfirst.com.

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