The Threshold Between Fear and Faith

The Hump of Avoidance

“How fitting…”

That was the first thought that crossed my mind as I climbed the steps up my companionway and into the sailboat cockpit on the morning I left Brunswick.

It was a chilly morning. A light fog hung over the marina. Not enough to be dangerous, just enough to soften the edges of everything. The marsh was hazy and the distant cellulose plant was partially veiled. Boats seemed frozen in place, almost painted into the landscape. The whole morning felt strangely liminal, as though I was standing between two versions of myself.

At the time, I wasn’t paying much attention to what I was feeling. I was busy. Running through mental departure checklists. Securing gear. Checking instruments. Warming up the engine. Friends were coming to see me off and my attention was mostly on them.

The anxiety was probably already there.

I just hadn’t given it room to speak yet.

I knew it would be hard to say goodbye to the people that supported me in this local community. They all got there. There were dock side hugs, handshakes, and last-minute conversations. From the outside, I probably seemed calm. Then it was time to go. I got back onboard, kicked the boat in reverse just enough to start moving and gracefully pushed off the dock. At least I didn’t make a fool of myself before even leaving.

I turned the boat around the end of Dock 3 to leave the marina and that’s when the fear and anxiety roared in. And it was loud. My friends were still close enough that I could literally talk to them if I wanted. They saw a sailor leaving, I felt the intensity of uncertainty. I hid it well.

I was barely next to Dock 2 when I felt my stomach tighten, my chest pounding, and the immediate self-doubt. There was nothing wrong. The boat was doing exactly what it was supposed to do. The weather was fine. My friends were still standing on the dock waving.

Yet my stomach tightened anyway.

I had spent five months preparing for this trip. More than that, I had spent over twenty years carrying the dream that led to it. And now that it was finally happening, part of me was terrified of what I might discover.

What if I couldn’t do it?

What if this dream I had carried for so long ended with me turning around before I even left the marina?

For a few moments I seriously considered it. You know what’s funny and what actually kept me going?

Not courage or confidence.

Ego.

And while that may not sound particularly noble, it was enough.

Yep. There was no scenario where I was going to motor back into my slip and explain that I had changed my mind, not even 2 minutes after departure. I had spent months preparing and talking about this trip. Good friends were literally still on the dock. I would never live this down.

So I kept going.

I glided past the fuel dock and the last boats of the marina. The anxiety stayed with me. When I passed the shrimp boats along the commercial dock, it started easing. My nervous system finally took a chill pill. I was nowhere near the Atlantic Ocean yet, but I was moving now.

I’ve called this the Hump of Avoidance for years. That moment right after committing to something meaningful when your brain suddenly becomes very creative about why it’s a terrible idea.

I’ve felt it before asking someone out. It’s happened before publishing something vulnerable. It showed up before doing dishes I didn’t feel like doing.

Different situations. Same feeling.

The trick is that the discomfort is usually strongest right at the beginning.

I motored out the 2 hours to the ocean with the anxiety pacing me, but not intense. Once I reached the Atlantic, I hoisted my sails and turned off the engine.

The silence was immediate. Both physically and mentally.

The vibration disappeared and was replaced by the sound of water moving along the hull and wind filling the sails. The boat heeled gently and surged forward. I felt myself settle into the moment. Less focused on uncertainty and more focused on where I was. Present. Collaborating with nature instead of forcing my way through it.

As soon as I was on my track, playful dolphins appeared exactly when I needed them most. Sailors have long considered dolphins swimming at the bow a sign of good fortune, safety, and guidance. I’m quite spiritual and I can tell you exactly how it felt that morning.

I finally felt calm.

Actually.

Safe.

They counterbalanced the fear with their presence. I even got excited. I stayed with them for a while and let myself soak it in. The Universe had just blessed the start of my journey.

“I’m going to be alright.”

Author’s Note: This story took place in November 2025. It was originally shared as a short social media post and has been expanded here with the benefit of hindsight.