Two years to the day after I left for the Bay Area—though I didn’t plan it that way—Cassiopeia and I slid back into our slip in Marina del Rey. The sun was out, boats were headed out to race, and familiar faces called out from across the water with big waves and “welcome home” energy. My heart cracked open. I felt it in my whole body—we were home.

And as we made the final turn into the dock, there was Monica—one of my dearest friends—standing on the dock with a bouquet of flowers, ready to catch our lines. I was completely overcome. It felt like joy and gratitude and relief and wonder all at once. After everything, I was back. With my people. In a place that is so me.

The 375-nautical-mile trip down from Sausalito was pure magic. Brendan helped me pick a perfect weather window, and the ocean delivered—calm seas, just the right amount of swell and wind, in just the right direction. It was a spectacular trip, one that fed something deep in me.

We left Sausalito at 0500 on April 5. We pulled out of that little slip that had been home to both Siren and then Cassiopeia for the past four years. I’ll miss the view, and the neighbors who became friends, but I could feel LA calling me home.

We motored out in the dark, hoisted the main, and passed under the Golden Gate Bridge by 0530. That bridge always gets me—but this time, lit up and silhouetted against the stillness of a pre-dawn sky, it felt especially sacred. Like a quiet blessing for the journey ahead. The first leg was long but kind. We reached Monterey by 1630, topped off fuel, shared an early dinner, and crashed hard.

The next morning came fast—off the dock by 0330, heading to Morro Bay. That day started a little rough. We motored right through a kelp paddy in the dark and didn’t realize it until the prop started complaining. It took a bit of maneuvering to shake it loose.

Then we lost the autopilot. Thankfully it was daylight and in calm conditions, because I had to crawl into the lazarette, deep in the stern of the boat, to fix it. The ram had shaken itself loose, which was a quick mechanical fix. But then came the wires—those sensitive little threads that connect the ram to the brain of the system. With some coaching from my amazing marine electrician (shoutout to Joe), I managed to reconnect them. After a couple of hours, she was back online. And—thank GOD—I didn’t get seasick! Phew!

The rest of the day was gorgeous. More spectacular conditions and even a few solid hours of sailing. We pulled into Morro Bay before sunset, which was such a treat. I’d only ever arrived (and departed the next morning) there in the dark, and seeing its quirky charm in daylight made it feel like a whole new place. We tied up at the yacht club dock and were met by kind, welcoming sailors who made us feel right at home.

Another early departure—0340. But this leg… this was the one I’ll remember forever. We rounded the notorious Point Conception in a steady breeze and following seas. The California coastline glowed alongside us, and everything felt magical. Quiet. Beautiful. Effortless. Cassiopeia was in her groove, and so was I. That kind of sailing… it feeds my soul. It reminded me why I love being out there. That stretch sunk deep into my bones.

We reached Santa Barbara by sunset, grabbed dinner ashore, went to bed early and then—for the first time in days—woke up without an alarm. Just soft light, slow coffee, and the quiet knowing that we were almost home.

The final stretch down to Marina del Rey was a warm, glassy motor cruise. Easy and steady.

Nature showed up for us the whole way down, like it was celebrating with us. In no particular order: orcas (yes—real orcas!), a small shark gliding just under the surface, grey whales, dolphins leaping in the distance, massive fields of velella velella, and a freight train of sea lions crossing our path like some wild aquatic parade.

The sunrises were quiet and expansive—soft light spreading across the horizon, Venus still hanging high in the sky. Cassiopeia, the constellation, always there in our wake. It all invited something deeper in me to drop in. One of the things I love most about being at sea is how close to spirit I feel. Being surrounded by raw nature like that snaps me into reverence and presence like nothing else. No distractions, just what’s here and now.

Our little crew of three was solid. One of my sailing girlfriends came along—experienced, tidy, intuitive, and always ready to lend a hand. It’s such a gift when no words are needed and the whole thing just flows. I was grateful for our rhythm.

And Brendan—his steady presence always helps me settle into the rhythm of a passage. Calm, competent, and quietly confident. He’s been sailing these waters since he was a kid, and it shows. With him, it’s more than experience—it’s something deep and embodied, like the sea is part of his DNA.

As we got closer to Marina del Rey, something in me started to let go. These familiar waters were soothing . I could feel a full-body exhale begin to happen. My heart got lighter with every mile we ticked off.

And after we docked, Monica turned to me and said, “You know it’s exactly two years since you left?” I just stood there for a moment, letting that land. A quiet wave of wonder and gratitude moved through me. Full circle.

Cassiopeia is home.

And in just a couple of weeks, I’ll be back too, returning to a place that’s held me, shaped me, and welcomed me for more than two decades.

I’m coming back refreshed. Clearer. Stronger. With a deeper sense of myself.
I am grateful and centered and carrying everything these past two years have taught me.