Peanut Island Odyssey: Learnings from a Paddleboard Adventure

Sometimes the best vacations aren't the ones that take us far from home; they're the ones that remind us how much wonder has been waiting nearby all along.

In this Wisdom for Wannabes blog voice note reflection, Jackie Morreale shares one of her favorite days of the summer: a family paddleboard adventure from Phil Foster Park to Peanut Island in Palm Beach County.

What started as a simple staycation became an unforgettable journey filled with stingrays, tropical fish, sandbars, houseboats, unexpected kindness, one spectacular wipeout, and a reminder that life rarely follows the straight line shown on a map.

The episode concludes with a 2-Minute Imagination Exercise: Your Seaside Odyssey, inviting you to picture your own island and reflect on the adventure you've been waiting to begin.

Favorite Quotes:
- "The map shows a straight line. Life rarely does."
- "Sometimes the easiest way forward isn't paddling harder. Sometimes it's simply realizing that you can stand."
- "We weren't really paddling to Peanut Island. We were practicing what it feels like to begin something we've never done before."
- "Sometimes staycations are the best vacations."
​- "The greatest adventures begin with one simple question: 'Do you think we can make it?'"

Jackie Morreale with snorkel gear on her Peanut Island Odyssey

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Peanut Island Odyssey
By Jackie Morreale

I would love to tell you about one of my favorite days of summer.

We're not talking about an expensive vacation.
It wasn't a cruise, although there was water involved.

It was a staycation that turned into an Odyssey.

Our mission was simple: Take one very well-loved paddleboard from under the bridge to another island in Palm Beach County, which called Peanut Island.

Our paddleboard has seen better days. It's teal, as you can see, probably about four or five years old. Every foam pad on top of it is peeling from years of adventures.

We strapped two dry bags onto the front of the board, one with food and drinks, the other one had towels, goggles, and snorkels.

We made one promise before we left: 'Let's try our best not to flip the paddleboard.'
Which, if you've ever tried balancing two children - one being an energetic little boy who loves doing backflips, and one adventurous daughter - two dry bags, and one determined mom on a single paddleboard, it is a pretty ambitious goal.

The adventure started before we even touched the water.

We carried the inflated board toward the beach until a lifeguard stopped us.
'You can't launch here,' we heard.

Launch.

It was such a funny word for putting a paddleboard into the water. It kind of makes you feel like you're preparing for an official boat launch, or maybe even a spaceship.

So we carried our little spaceship further down the beach, past the snorkelers, past the white buoys, until we finally reached a place where we were allowed to begin.

The moment we climbed aboard, all three of us, stable on one paddleboard, someone snorkeling nearby looked up at us and casually pointed beneath our board.

He said, 'There are stingrays under you.'

There they were. Just gliding. Quietly sharing the water with us.
Nobody panicked, we simply smiled and kept paddling.

Soon we reached the boating channel. The current was against us, and boats were moving through at 5mph. The three of us were moving considerably slower than 5mph.

It felt like every paddle stroke gained only inches across this boating channel.

One small motorboat slowed down and patiently waited for us to cross, which felt like forever. But that simple act of kindness somehow made me even more determined.

Eventually we reached the houseboats. Not boats that look like boats, boats that looked like actual houses, little floating neighborhoods with windows, tiny boards tied beside them.

Then something unexpected happened: The water became so shallow we could simply step off the paddleboard.

The sandbar

The view from the sandbar

The water was crystal clear, warm, and turquoise.
We walked in two feet of water.
We laughed.

We pulled the paddleboard across the sandbar together.

And we found that sometimes the easiest way forward isn't paddling harder.
Sometimes it's simply realizing that you can stand.

When the water deepened again, we climbed back onto the board one by one without tipping it over.
Back into the current.
Back toward the island.
Back on our mission.

I paddled. My daughter used her hands behind me like an extra engine. My son jumped into the water and kicked underneath the board, to become our motor. Everyone helped.

By the time the beach was finally in clear sight, we were exhausted. So we started counting. It was 41 more strokes.
Forty more strokes...
Thirty more...
Twenty...
Ten.
And finally, the nose of the paddleboard touched the sand on this beach that is Peanut Island.

Our Odyssey mission was complete! After an hour and a half, we had made it.

The dry bags had stayed dry, and we went exploring underwater.

Mission complete! We made it to Peanut Island on the paddleboard.

We drifted past needlefish.
We floated beside boats that had arrived there the normal way: with motors.
We reached the rocks near the inlet.

It felt like swimming into another world.

Schools of angelfish, clown fish, bright tropical fish of every shape.
A lone barracuda quietly passing by.

And my personal favorite, the blue-green parrot fish. So beautiful. Their scales shimmered with every color of the sea as they happily munched on sargassum floating nearby.

The same seaweed that people, including me, complain about on the beach at this time of year, was a feast for them.

It's funny how perspective changes everything.

Around 6:30pm we looked at each other and realized: If it took us an hour and a half to get here, we should probably head back home.

The return trip began slowly, really slowly. was paddling as hard as I could while my legs dangled in the water and we barely moved.

Then another paddle border glided effortlessly past us, standing, relaxed, looking like she hadn't even broken a sweat.

So I called out, 'How are you going so fast?'

She smiled and said, 'Pull your feet out of the water.'

I folded my legs on the board very carefully as to not rock the boat, literally.

Suddenly we were flying! Well, flying for us.

We moved pretty quickly. We stopped for pictures on the sandbar. We were brave enough to take out my phone and laughed and did cartwheels and had a blast. It was beautiful.

We were back in the two feet of water sandbar paradise.
A sunset painted the sky.
We could see the beach under the bridge just ahead.

Everything felt easy. Only 30 minutes of rowing this time. The current was with us.
But maybe... too easy.

As we approached the final channel, I folded my legs back into that same position, boarding the boat as to not rock it with all three of us and the two dry bags, which are still dry.

Back on the sandbar! Right before...

Then... wipe out! All three of us tipped over.

Our two dry bags, now suspended completely upside down by these things, were half in the water.
A mask floated away, snorkels drifted. It was chaos.

My incredible kids went into rescue mode immediately, swimming their hearts out, treading water, pushing the paddleboard upright with all their might, retrieving everything that floated away.

We didn't lose a thing, although the dry bags were definitely not dry anymore.

I refused to check on the electronics until we were safely back.

When we finally reached the shore, it ended up that the key worked, the phone worked.
Everything was heavy.
Everything smelled like seawater.
Our souvenir from our Peanut Island Odyssey, and somehow everything was perfect.

We just had an island adventure.

Later that evening after packing away the blow up paddleboard and rewarding ourselves with giant ice cream sundaes, I looked at a map and I realized something:

From the park under the bridge to Peanut Island is less than a mile as the pelican flies.

It doesn't look very far, but maps don't show:

• currents.
• They don't show the houseboats.
• They don't show the sandbars where you can climb off and walk.
• They don't show the strangers who encourage you.
• They don't show the stingrays gliding beneath your board.
• They don't show the moment you became just a little too confident and you tip over into the water.
• They don't show the children working together to rescue the paddleboard and all of its contents.
• They don't show the parrot fish or the barracuda or the sunset.
• Or the ice cream afterwards.

The map shows a straight line. And life rarely does.

Sometimes we look at someone else's success and think, 'Well, they only had to go a mile.'

Maybe.

But we have no idea what currents they paddled against.

Looking back, I realized we weren't really paddling to Peanut Island. We were practicing what it feels like to begin something we've never done before.

• We couldn't launch where we expected.
• The current pushed against us.
• Other people made it look effortless.
• We got tired. 
• We kept going.
• We reached paradise.
• We even got a little overconfident.
• We flipped.
• And we discovered that the things that mattered most were still there.

Maybe that's how every worthwhile adventure works.

2-Minute Imagination Exercise: Your Seaside Odyssey

Today I'd love to invite you on your own 'mental' seaside journey.

Close your eyes.

Imagine warm sand beneath your feet.

Hear the rhythm of gentle waves rolling onto the shore.

Feel the warmth of the sun on your shoulders and a soft ocean breeze across your face.

In front of you waits a paddleboard.
Maybe it's brand new.
Maybe it's scratched.
Maybe it's exactly the one you're carrying through life right now.
It's enough.

Take one deep breath.

And step onto the board.

Feel it gently rock beneath you and begin paddling toward your own island.
A dream you've put off.
A painting you're looking to create.
A book waiting to be written.
A conversation you've needed to have.
A healthier version of yourself.

As you paddle, notice the current. Instead of fighting it, simply keep taking the next stroke.

Notice what appears along the way.
Perhaps a stingray glides peacefully beneath you.
Bright tropical fish remind you that beauty often hides below the surface.
A stranger offers exactly the advice that you needed to hear.
A gentle breeze reminds you that you don't have to do everything alone.

And if somewhere along your journey, you fall into the water... Smile.

Sometimes it becomes your favorite part of the story. Now imagine arriving at your island.

Step onto the warm sand. Take a deep breath.

And look around.

Notice what you've discovered, not just about this place, but about yourself.

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Sometimes staycations are the best vacations.

Sometimes, the greatest adventures begin with an old paddleboard, two kids, two dry bags, and one simple question:

'Do you think we can make it?'

That's all an Odyssey really is. Have a wonderful day!

Morreale Peanut Island Snorkel Crew