.dropcap { color: #838078; float: left; font-size: 82px; line-height: 60px; padding: 5px 8px 0 0; } I have a habit of dreaming big, and most days I enjoy this about myself. But on a wet Tuesday in March, when my father and I are trying to launch the Night Heron—my 23-foot Ranger Tug boat—into Taylor’s Creek in Beaufort, North Carolina, the cost of dreaming becomes apparent. Our fingers have gone numb in the cold while we unknot the boat cover. Damp masks muffle necessary instructions. We’re all drenched by a cool spring rain. Finally, we ease the boat into the tidal creek. “I love it when a plan comes together,” my father says. He’s said this line for as long as I can remember; his own father liked to say it. I know it’s one part sarcasm, one part nod to the divine chaos of the universe. Navigating imperfection, I’ve learned, is an essential part of pushing dreams forward. Owning a boat and living aboard in the historic town of Beaufort...