Last week I cleaned the bathroom (or to be more nautically accurate, the “aft heads”) on Steely.

All it took was some Jif, a cloth, 6 screwdrivers, a set of vice grips, 8 ring spanners, a ratchet spanner, 2 tube spanners, a head torch, a bung, a piece of wood, a marker pen, a wood saw, a hole saw, a vice, an extra pair of hands and about 8 hours.

I know what you must be thinking. But I’m here to tell you that our bathroom habits are no different than yours, and there were no unmentionables or particularly tough stains to remove.

Ten minutes after I started cleaning, while I was rinsing the cloth in the sink, the tap finally came away from the work surface, after months of progressively working itself looser and looser.

Over the last few weeks, I’d been steadfastly ignoring it, after my initial desultory attempt at tightening it a couple of months ago was unsuccessful. I knew it was going to be a big job, and didn’t really know how to go about it. So I figured if I just moved on, maybe it would too.

Now my tap chickens had come home to roost, and once again, for maybe the thousandth time, I found myself thinking about what I’d be doing right now if I was back at work.

Before we left, I wondered quite a bit about how much I’d miss it. After all, for most of my adult life, I’ve loved my job, whatever it happened to be. I’d even go so far as to say I let it define me to a large extent.

Working 70 and 80 hour weeks was relatively common, and it would be rare indeed that I’d work less than 55. But I never begrudged that time, because I enjoyed it so much.

I knew that I’d be busy in our new life, both with the sailing and navigating, and of course the boat work, not to mention exploring new places. But wouldn’t I miss the very thing I’d been spending so much time doing?

Well no, as it turns out, with just one, rather major, exception.

It turns out I miss feeling competent at something.

For the last 20 years of my career, I was in some way shape or form, “the boss”. Sometimes of just a small team, other times of the entire company. But in each case, my day revolved around staff or clients coming at me with problems and opportunities, and me either solving them, or helping my team member solve it for themselves.

I thrived on the adrenaline. No two days were the same, of course, but they all had one thing in common. No matter what issues arose, I knew what needed to be done next to address them.

Contrast that with our life now, and it’s clear to see what I’m missing.

Most of our peers out here on the ocean come from engineering backgrounds, or they’ve at least worked with their hands in various trades. By contrast both Jen and I were desk jockeys. While we were working in well-paying management jobs, it made sense for us to outsource all of our boat work (and our domestic household work, such as fixing loose taps) to professionals.

But now, almost every problem that arises in the boat is something we’re experiencing for the first time. Which means we have a steep learning curve when it comes to fixing it.

Thankfully, YouTube is a font of knowledge, as indeed are the many other cruisers we meet, most of whom have previously encountered whatever issue we’re dealing with themselves. Occasionally the other cruisers even agree with each other about the best solution!

But, I’m having to learn to be patient. And to accept that in the actual moment where it goes wrong, and also in the first or second attempt at fixing it, I’m not really going to have much of a clue.

Coming to terms with the fact that I feel permanently incompetent, while all around me my “peers” are so much better at this stuff than I am, has been quite challenging. It affects my sense of ego, and probably goes some way to explaining why I’m spending chunks of time writing a blog - ie something I can feel good at - rather than tackling what ever boat job is pressing (as I write this, it’s fitting a new fuel line between my secondary filters and the injection pump on the starboard engine, in the hope it will address a low revs issue we’ve been experiencing for 18 months and that I’ve failed to fix on at least 4 previous attempts).

I’m certainly not too down on the situation – I am getting better at this stuff…slowwwly… and in the meantime, like all of us, I take my ego boosts where I can find them.

On the plus side, for example, the sense of satisfaction I feel when I do finally successfully fix something is immense, probably way more so than someone who has solved the same problem many times before.

And there’s also the fact that now, a year after we departed, some problems are occurring for a second time. Those problems are the good ones, because I know exactly how to tackle them.

In fact, it’s weirdly satisfying just preparing to tackle a problem I’ve solved before. I know exactly what tools I’m going to need, what size spanners, what parts, what lubricants, or adhesives, or tapes, what will cause a mess, and what it will take to clean it up. And I can have all of that laid out ready to go before I start.

Anyway, must dash - I’m off to mop the floors in an effort to put off the fuel line some more. Just need to lay out the angle grinder, the long-nose pliers, 3 buckets, the cordless drill and some safety glasses and I’ll be all set.

This post is one of a series of 10 insights and learnings from the first 12 months of our circumnavigation. Click here to see the full list and access the other posts.