My wife's brother has a little house on a small island in the

Host: The ferry rocked violently on the dark Baltic Sea, its steel hull groaning with each rising wave. The wind howled, cold and merciless, scattering flakes of snow into the night. The deck lights swayed like pendulums, casting dizzying beams across the black water.
Inside the small cabin, Jack sat hunched on a bench, a paper barf bag clutched in one pale hand. Across from him, Jeeny gripped her thermos, face half-lit by the trembling yellow bulb overhead.

Host: The ferry smelled of salt, diesel, and courage — the kind that doesn’t roar but grits its teeth and hangs on. The sound of waves slamming against the hull made the windows shudder.

Jeeny: (grinning despite the chaos) “Nick Frost once said, ‘My wife’s brother has a little house on a small island in the Baltic Sea, and we go there at Christmas. The 30-minute crossing from the mainland to this island is the most terrifying cruise you’ll ever take. They give you a barf bag when you walk on board.’”

Jack: (grimacing) “Yeah, well, I get it now. If this is only thirty minutes, that’s thirty minutes in purgatory.”

Jeeny: “You can’t blame him for calling it terrifying. The sea out here feels… ancient. Like it remembers things it shouldn’t.”

Jack: “You ever notice how humor always finds its way into fear? Frost isn’t just describing a boat ride — he’s describing survival with a laugh.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s what humor does. It lets us mock what we can’t control. Seas, storms, or fate.”

Jack: (tight-lipped, as another wave tilts the ferry) “Then I must be full of existential comedy right now.”

Jeeny: (laughs, steadying herself) “Admit it — you’d rather have this kind of story than a calm crossing.”

Jack: “A calm crossing doesn’t make a memory.”

Host: The boat pitched sharply, a violent sway that sent coffee sloshing over Jeeny’s glove. She didn’t flinch — only looked out the window where the sea stretched in wild black sheets. The waves gleamed silver under the weak moonlight, like restless spirits rising.

Jeeny: “You know, I think Frost’s humor hides something deeper. He’s not just talking about fear — he’s talking about ritual. The fact that he keeps going back every Christmas, despite the terror. That’s family. That’s love disguised as madness.”

Jack: “Love disguised as sea sickness.”

Jeeny: “But that’s the point — love always requires a crossing. Something uncomfortable, risky, ridiculous. You endure it because what waits on the other side is worth it.”

Jack: (smiling weakly) “You’re turning a barf bag into philosophy.”

Jeeny: “Everything’s philosophy if you hold on long enough.”

Host: The wind roared again, rattling the ferry’s frame. Somewhere overhead, a loud metallic clang rang out like a gong struck by the sea itself. But inside the cabin, amid the trembling and nausea, a strange calm settled — the calm of shared discomfort, of two people acknowledging the absurdity of fear.

Jack: “Maybe that’s why Frost told it as a joke — because fear only has power when we treat it seriously.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Laughter shrinks it. It turns the storm from a monster into a companion.”

Jack: “A really drunk, dangerous companion.”

Jeeny: (grinning) “Still better than silence.”

Host: The boat lurched again, throwing them both slightly off balance. Jack exhaled, clutching the bench tighter, his expression caught somewhere between pain and reluctant amusement.

Jeeny: “You ever notice how the sea always humbles people? No matter who you are — scientist, philosopher, soldier — when you face it, you become small again. That’s what makes this crossing sacred.”

Jack: “Sacred? I’d call it stomach baptism.”

Jeeny: “Exactly! That’s what I mean — purification through chaos. You go in one person and come out another. The sea forces surrender. Frost found a way to laugh while surrendering.”

Jack: “And we’re doing the same.”

Jeeny: “That’s the hidden beauty of fear. When you share it — when you survive it — it becomes connection.”

Host: Outside, the waves crashed harder, but faint lights flickered on the horizon — the outline of a small island breaking through the dark. Through the window, the frozen landscape shimmered — trees white with frost, roofs dusted in snow, smoke rising from unseen chimneys.

Jeeny: (softly) “Look. The island.”

Jack: (relieved) “Finally. The promised land of nausea.”

Jeeny: “And warmth. And family. And stories to retell with laughter instead of dread.”

Jack: “Yeah. That’s the irony, isn’t it? Every terrifying crossing turns into a funny story later.”

Jeeny: “Because laughter is the memory’s way of healing fear.”

Jack: (quietly) “Or disguising it.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Both. Healing always wears disguises.”

Host: The ferry began to slow, the engine’s growl softening as the waves settled into smaller ripples. The air inside was thick with relief — the kind that always follows surviving something you couldn’t control.

Jeeny: “Frost’s quote sounds funny, but it’s almost poetic, really. It’s about that human instinct to keep facing what scares us — because somewhere beyond the fear, there’s belonging.”

Jack: “And belonging always demands a bit of discomfort.”

Jeeny: “And a good story.”

Jack: “And maybe a barf bag.”

Host: They both laughed, the sound lost beneath the hiss of docking lines being thrown and engines winding down. Through the glass, the island drew close — a small world of flickering light and snow, waiting like an embrace.

And as they gathered their things, Nick Frost’s words seemed to hover over the scene, carried on the salty breath of the sea:

Host: That fear, when faced with humor, becomes humanity.
That the crossings we dread most are often the ones that lead us home.
That every act of courage — however ridiculous —
is just the body’s way of saying, love is worth the nausea.

Host: The ferry docked, the door clanged open, and the cold air rushed in — sharp, clean, alive.
Jack stepped out first, still pale but smiling.

Jeeny followed, looking back once at the restless water and then ahead to the faint lights beyond the snow.

Host: And as they walked across the frozen pier, the wind easing, the laughter lingering, the truth was as clear as the icy air around them:

Sometimes the most terrifying journeys are just the most human ones —
and the barf bag, ridiculous as it seems,
is proof that we crossed.