OK, let me tell the story of how I learned to sail, FWIW.
I grew up in a commercial fishing community. My dad and my uncle both fished from time to time, so I know something about boats and water.
Later, when I was going to the University of Washington, living below radar to save money ( dumstering U Village for my food, selling plasma on the Ave for my cash, and sleeping on campus in the back of my car) I'd often park at night behind the stadium down by the lake. I'd wake up to the sound of the rowing club and the sailing club going out to practice.
I decided I wanted to teach myself to sail, so I got a 25 cent copy of Royce's Sailing Illustrated and started reading through it at random. It's still one of the best sailing books out there. 1000 useful facts, good pics, and fits in your pocket. Then I'd sit and watch the boats for hours, trying to make sense of everything I was seeing and reading. Sometimes I'd catch lines or help people carry gear, always trying to be helpful.
After a week or so, when I'd figured out everything I could on my own and people were starting to get curious about the weird guy sitting on the bank, I introduced myself to one of them, told him i was trying to teach myself about sailing, and asked if he'd mind answering a few questions. I made sure they were intelligent ones.
He was pretty cool and asked if I wanted to join the club, but I just shrugged it off and let him know I couldn't afford it. A few days later people started inviting me to go sailing, and going out of their way to explain things to me. Some of them were pretty clueless, but I probably learned more from them by watching them screw up than I did from the aces. Or maybe not, I don't know.
30 years later I'm still sailing.
Lots of small boat time is really valuable for training reflexes. They capsize faster than large boats, but you don't usually get hurt. That's the only way I know to learn the "Spidey Sense" of how hard you can push a boat before she's about to bite you, and how to handle helm and sheets to bring her back under control in the second or two you have before she goes over. I've been right to the edge of a knock-down on a 68 footer off shore in a storm, and although it feels different than an el Toro on a sunny day on Lake Washington, the old instincts still let you know that you're poised to be fucked!