/ 
January, the sea is still there, intact, but more distant. The pontoons have emptied, the boats are waiting. On the quayside, we meet mostly slow gestures, glances towards the horizon, and this discreet but nagging question: what am I really going to do next?
There's a lot of talk about winter maintenance, and rightly so. But over the years, I've come to realize that it's not just the bilges and trunks that matter. It's also to be found elsewhere. In the way you look at your riding. In what you choose to pursue... or leave behind.
Because sometimes preparing for the sea doesn't require moving the boat.
Preparing without doing: accepting suspended time
Winter imposes one precious thing on sailors: stopping.
A pause that's not a weakness, but a breath of fresh air. It's the moment when you stop trying to optimize every outing, every mile covered. When you accept that navigation is not always about movement. This pause allows you to reread your past navigations, to identify what counted and what weighed. It's never the miles that stick. It's the decisions.
Clarify your desires before preparing your boat
Winter is a good time to ask a simple but uncomfortable question: what can we really expect from the sea?
Not what we project onto her. Not what we think we have to live. But what really sets us in motion today.
Is it the need to slow down, even if it means sailing less? A desire to get to anchorage sooner, rather than further down the map? The desire to spend more time ashore, without guilt? Or the desire to sail in a smaller area, but with more attention, more presence?
There's nothing theoretical about this clarification. It has a very concrete impact on the choices we make: the boat we prepare, the equipment we deem essential or not, the routes we plan, and even the way we allow ourselves to sail.
Until this question is clarified, we're preparing a boat, but not a navigation.
Lighten, renounce, simplify
Preparing for the sea also means giving up. Giving up everything. Giving up seeing everything. Giving up certain ambitions that no longer suit us.
Winter allows us to lighten our load: sort out our equipment, but also our projections. Ask yourself what you really need on board and in your relationship with the sea. Many sailors say it in hushed tones: the less you carry, the better you sail. What if this truth were not only material?
Staying in touch with the sea, even when docked
Not sailing doesn't mean cutting yourself off. Winter is a time to observe, read, share and pass on. Walking along the coast, watching the lights change, listening to the stories of others. Remain attentive, even when motionless.
This link nourishes future navigation. It sharpens the eye. It humbles. And when, after winter, the time comes to cast off, we don't set sail against the sea, but with it.
A welcome winter break
Every winter reminds me that sailing begins long before the first outing and continues long after the last. Preparing for the sea without moving the boat means accepting that the essential part of the voyage is played out on the inside The sea always recognizes those who have taken the time to listen to it before exploring it. "
