As our time in our little home away from home draws to a close, I find myself reflecting on what these past two weeks have really meant to us.

In practical terms, they have been incredibly productive. Simon Hendrick has received the care she needed. Edwin has spent countless hours tackling jobs both large and small. Engine maintenance, repairing the starter motor, fixing damage to the keel and hull, along with many other maintenance tasks that come with living aboard a boat full time. The list is long, and although we are not quite finished yet, we are close. Tomorrow will be one final push before we move everything back on board.

But while the boat has benefited enormously from these weeks ashore, so have we.

We rented the most wonderfully Greek little house, perched above the sea, surrounded by everyday island life. A place that somehow felt familiar almost from the moment we arrived. Every morning we watched the neighbours go about their routines. Builders worked outside our door. The elderly lady from next door shuffled slowly past each day. People waved, smiled and stopped for a chat.

Nothing extraordinary.

And yet, somehow, everything about it felt special.

These two weeks reminded us once again how much we love Greece. Not just the landscapes or the climate, but the feeling of being here. There is a simplicity, a warmth and a sense of safety that is difficult to explain unless you have experienced it yourself.

When I sit on the beach with Philou, I am not constantly looking over my shoulder. I know she is nearby. I know people are watching out for one another. That sense of trust creates a level of peace that is hard to put into words.

As we drove around the island each day, exploring different corners and running errands, something else started happening.

We began looking through a different lens.

Not as travellers.

Not as sailors.

But as people asking themselves a very different question.

Could we actually live here?

Leros is a wonderful island. More than once during these weeks, Edwin and I looked at each other and said almost simultaneously, “This really is a lovely place.”

And it is.

But we also know that for us, Leros is probably too small. Too compact for the long term.

Yet the question itself became more important than the answer.

Because suddenly we realised that what once felt like a distant possibility is slowly becoming more real.

We are no longer simply travelling.

We are beginning to think about where we might eventually put down roots.

When we first left, there was always an open ending. If it did not suit us, we could return, even after six months. Nothing was permanent.

But now, after everything we have experienced, we know this life suits us far more than we ever imagined.

The next step is beginning to emerge on the horizon.

And that raises an interesting question.

Are we searching for a location?

Or are we searching for a place where we feel most ourselves?

Of course, practical considerations matter. Schools, infrastructure, airports, healthcare, housing. Those things cannot be ignored.

But perhaps they are only part of the equation.

Maybe what truly matters is finding a place where both of us can become the best version of ourselves. A place where life feels aligned. A place where growth happens naturally.

I have often said that I am the best version of myself when I am on the water.

I still believe that.

But I am also discovering that there are places in this world that bring out something special in me. Places that simply feel right.

The beautiful thing is that Edwin seems to experience exactly the same feeling. Sometimes for different reasons, but we often arrive at the same conclusion.

We felt it when we found Simon Hendrick.

And now we seem to be feeling it again as we explore what comes next.

One thing has become very clear after these two weeks. Our old life no longer fits us. We have outgrown it.

At the same time, the idea of emigrating is becoming more tangible.

And with that comes a different set of emotions.

Family.

Friendships.

The people we love.

When you are travelling, everything still feels temporary. Relationships stretch across distance, but there is always the idea that one day things might return to their old shape.

When you start talking about settling somewhere, that changes.

Not the relationships themselves. Good friends remain good friends. Family remains family.

But the shape of those relationships evolves.

This week, I had a lovely conversation with one of my closest friends. She reminded me that while we see each other less often, the moments we do share have become richer and more intentional.

And she is right.

There is a different kind of depth in those reunions.

At the same time, I realise how much I value the friendships that come with a shared history. We meet wonderful people along the way, but there is something unique about people who have known your journey for years.

For now, though, we have decided not to rush anything.

First, we finish the boat.

Then we enjoy the summer.

We have a new sailing plan ahead of us, which I will share more about later.

Whether this will be our final summer living full time aboard, we simply do not know yet.

What I do know is that I am looking forward to stepping back on board tomorrow. To returning home once again. To letting all these thoughts settle quietly in the background.

Because more and more, I trust that our path is unfolding exactly as it should.

We do not have all the answers yet.

But we are getting closer.

And for now, that feels like enough.

Sometimes the destination reveals itself only after you’ve fallen in love with the journey.