I wake to the gentle rocking of the ship and the low hum of the motor. Sunlight is streaming through the window over the vast ocean past the curtains that sway gently in time with the sea swells. Greg is more disciplined than I am and is already awake exercising and practicing his morning meditation. The couch where Nico sleeps is empty, but Blue Bunny peeks out from beneath the heaped up sleeping bag. And so I face the first decision of my day…roll over and let the ship rock me back to sleep or begin the day at breakfast with a few of my 700 Semester at Sea family members? I choose the latter and quickly brush my teeth, throw on some elephant pants from Vietnam and a sweatshirt, and head upstairs to see who I can find. As I open the door to our cabin and step into the hallway, I hear the 3 year-old Chinese professor’s daughter yell out a greeting to our cabin steward in her new English words, “GOOD MORNING, ANGELITO!” She runs back into her cabin and hides behind her mom’s legs when she see’s me…my connection with her will take awhile. I walk past Reese and Luke’s room and decide to let them sleep — nights can be late for them on the ship and they still have another hour before Global Studies starts.

It’s these little details of our semester at sea that I don’t want to forget. Actually, I’d like to embed them all into my brain — the little ones and the big ones.

The luxury of the type of daily decisions that came with ship life did not go un-noticed by my usually over-programmed self. Should I read or journal? Work on a puzzle or play a game? Watch a documentary about Vietnam on the “loop” in my cabin or attend a presentation on Bollywood? Should I audit a class on Photography or Oceanography? Sleep in or wake up to see the sunrise and catch the 6:30am work-out class on the 7th deck port side? Shall I have the fish or the chicken from the buffet for dinner? Should I review long division or fractions with Nico? Dessert or not? Maybe the best part of these decisions is that there was no wrong choice. I can’t remember another time in my life when I had that luxury.

My Semester at Sea, Spring ’17 voyage was a gift. It was a both a gift and a challenge to my introvert of a self. Time alone was hard to come by with 700+ people sharing common spaces and 3, sometimes 5, people sharing my cabin. I didn’t recognize how this was affecting me until about 4 weeks into the voyage. Once I noticed the discomfort, I made an effort to choose to carve out some time for introspection and meditation when planning my schedule. This proved to be the most difficult decision of my days. And with some gradual adjustments, I eventually found a rhythm that included a chair on deck 7 next to the expanse of the ocean, watching a bird follow our ship, spotting a whale!, journalling, reading, listening to music, or just listening to the soundtrack of my life at sea.

It is truly amazing to watch what happens when you throw 700 strangers together on a ship, take away wifi, and expose them to unfamiliar and often uncomfortable situations. People start to look up instead of down. The community that develops can take many different directions. On our voyage, under the graceful leadership of Executive Dean, Dan Garvey, the community that was born provided the foundation for immeasurable growth for all of us that were blessed to be in the right place at the right time. Even the most introverted had little excuse not to connect. We were encouraged to start each meal in the dining room with one of two phrases, “May I join you? or Will you join us?” Guided by the motto, “Respect, Inclusion, Open-mindedness” — voted on and chosen collectively at the outset of our semester — friendships were molded and solidified. Can my family continue to live by those 3 words and those phrases? How could that change our daily life experience at home?

Between ports, we were “at home.” After 5 months of being on the road, staying no more than a week in one place, the routine of shipboard life was welcomed by 5 pairs of outstretched arms. What was my favorite port? I can easily say that “at sea”— between ports — was my favorite. There was time for reflecting and learning from 700 other’s shared observations/ experiences. We were seeing the world through a diversity of eyes. I was also seeing my family through this “diversity of eyes.” Greg was a true advisor to so many on the ship — providing keen insight on topics ranging from starting a small business to mindfulness. His time was sought after by many and in his “office,” aft on deck 7, an empty chair next to him was not empty for long. He was energized by this new role and I was reminded of his gift of teaching. Not only was my husband a source of pride, but my kids helped to solidify my swollen head. I was constantly receiving positive feedback on their manners, their maturity, their behavior, their independence, and their intelligence. I knew they were good people, but my biased opinion was confirmed by the community around me. This community of role models — both faculty and students — opened up a world of possibilities to my kids of how to be, who to be, where to live, what to study, and more. (I just wasn’t prepared for Reese and Luke to suddenly be inspired to go to boarding school!)

Now, 6 weeks after saying good-bye to our home at sea, I am reminded of the hole in my heart that formed when we left San Marino nearly 11 months ago. The hole that seemed so massive at that time was filled 100x over by the friendships and experiences on Semester at Sea. I just wasn’t prepared for the new one that formed as we left the ship. It is quite possible that it was harder to leave our SAS home than our “home-home,” as I know can never re-create those magical 4 months at sea. Yes, we will most certainly sail again. But, we will never again have the perfect combination of this particular group of students/faculty/staff, our kids at this exact moment in time, or Greg and I at this very place in our careers and life. The stars were aligned for us this year and Semester at Sea, Spring ’17 sailed in their magnificent light.