Landlubbing v. boat life

writing outside while the kids play inside. Oh the space!

We’ve been landlubbers now for one month; one month as landlubbers after 11 years as  liveaboards. Time for a few reflections on the transition. Which do I like better? Boat life or land life? Which is easier? There isn’t an obvious answer, just lots of pros and cons, and a lot of the pros lead to cons.

In general, I’m enjoying the luxury and ease of living in a condo - the unlimited water and electricity, the space, the air conditioning. But we’re missing the boat too. The girls were very excited to move into a house, but they’ve also said goodbye to the only home they’ve had and they’re finding that they missing it, especially Freja. Maybe it’s a case of the grass is always greener but they’re (literally) dreaming about the boat and miss specific aspects. I feel it too. The change is easy, but I also loved our life on m/v Rhumb Line, and I’m missing it.

Yet, the house. It’s so easy. Here’s my current list of pros and cons of living in a house, in no particular order.

Pro: the space. This is the obvious one. There is so much space, and the sheer amount of space is amazing! I can hide from the kids and they don’t find me until they’ve found another activity to do. (Yes, I hide from my kids. All parents will get this.) We have a third bedroom which we call Hans’s work bedroom. All his scrubs are in there and he sleeps there when he’s working nights or other weird shifts. He can sleep undisturbed and I no longer have to shush the kids (Quiet! Pappa’s sleeping!).

There is an expression that used to run through my head on the boat, everything has a place and everything in its place. I was never good at this, especially because if we had one extra magazine out or if Hans left his shoes out, the magazine would be in the way of an art activity and we’d trip over the shoes. We had no extra space. It always looked like a tornado had just blown through and I was constantly purging and making runs to Goodwill with stuff to get rid of. Now I can shove the mail and the papers in an out of the way corner and no one notices. We have empty drawers and cupboards. I want to keep them empty; it’s the key (I think) to keeping a place tidy. Wow, it’s nice to live in a tidy place.

I have so much space to store food and cook, even though we have a relatively small kitchen compared to other houses. I’ve got my sourdough starter going, I’ve made baguettes, I’m trying out new recipes, I’m making yogurt. It is awesome to have so much space to cook.

Pro: the toilets. Boat toilets are stinky, they break, the flushing mechanism (a macerator pump) is loud, you have to find a place to pump-out the holding tank which contains all your, ahem, solid waste. There’s basically nothing good about a boat toilet, except, maybe, that it’s one step better than a bucket. But I’m not entirely convinced on that front. Diapers ain’t got nothing on a boat toilet. House toilets, on the other hand...big, clean, with a quiet, simple flush, relatively trouble free.

Pro: the fridge. I love the fridge in our condo. It is HUGE! It’s cold, the freezer makes ice and keeps ice cream frozen...it works! I hate the fridge on our boat. We bought it brand new in 2014, but boat fridges, at least this one, isn’t designed for daily use by a family of four. We overworked that poor thing. The constant opening and closing and filling and emptying it of food every third day made it work harder than it was designed for. The freezer constantly  needed defrosting and dairy went bad within one week. Plus it was small. I only could cook enough for one meal because we didn’t have room for leftovers. Thus, Hans ate a lot of meals at the hospital cafeteria when he could have been bringing leftovers. 

Pro: insulation. It’s really nice to live in a condo that is well-insulated and climate controlled. Our boat is like a greenhouse - which is great in the winter in Philadelphia and equally not-great in the summers. Older boats just weren’t designed for full-time liveaboards and they weren’t properly insulated. We added insulation, but we still found that we had to run the a/c and heat a lot (all the time).

Con: climate control. While it’s great to live in a place that is well-insulated and is 74 degrees at the touch of a button, I feel so disconnected from the natural world. I have no idea what phase the moon is in; no idea when high tide is; sunrise? Sunset? Is it raining out? I used to spend the majority of my waking time outdoors or at least with all the windows open and a breeze blowing through. Now I’m enjoying the ease of living in climate control, but I feel like I’m indoors all the time and I feel very removed from nature. 

Con: space. A lot of space means a lot of cleaning. We have three bathrooms. Three! That means three toilets to clean. All the space and rooms means a lot of square footage which means a lot of floors. There is a vast expanse of floors - all of which need to be swept and mopped. The space is great, but it’s not free. Much to their dismay, the kids now have chores they have to complete three times a week. (Except they do love vacuuming!)

Con: lack of community. I’m a big talker. I’m sure I’m one of those marina neighbors who people see coming and they quickly duck back into their boats. I try to reign it in when I see someone actively involved in a boat project, but, otherwise, sorry in advance and sorry retroactively, I talk a lot. I LOVE the boating community. Because I always have someone to talk to. Because I always have someone to lend a hand. Because I know we’re all looking out for each other. And, generally, most boaters are pretty chill people. At least when they’re at the marina or swinging at anchor, just hanging out on their boat. It is a fun environment. People really do listen to Jimmy Buffet, a lot. My kids have surrogate aunts and uncles in Philadelphia and Jacksonville - people who have known them and cared for them as babies and watched them grow into kids. 

I prepared myself when we moved off the boat that I’d be moving to an island. (Literally and figuratively.) I don’t know any of my neighbors. Not because I haven’t tried, but because it’s actually hard to meet them. People drive up to their garages, enter, and disappear. There are some common outdoor spaces, but they’re not frequented. Or if we do meet people, they’re here on a short-term rental. And now the pool is closed because the pH is off from Hurricane Harvey. So I’m finding my own community in other places, but it’s hard not to have that built-in community I so valued at the marinas and in the cruising community.

So which is better, boat life or land life? When I look over my pro and con list, it is clearly not black and white. A pro begets a con and I start missing the boat life again. Then I remember the toilets and...yeah I’m happy on land. On the other hand, not all things are equal. I’ll happily trade in some sweaty evenings without a/c for watching the full moon rise over water. I’ll happily trade in schlepping my laundry to a marina or laundromat for the conversation I have with other boaters while I’m doing that laundry.

After taking a minute to think about the differences between boat life and land life, I recognize two aspects of boat life that are vital to my happiness: nature and community. I get both of those on a boat, yet I have to work for those on land. 

I know that we’ll be back on a boat at some point in the future. The world is too big, there is too much to explore, I love sailing and boating too much to not get back out there. But I know when we do go again, while I won’t be trying to replicate land life on a sailboat, I will have a decent fridge and freezer and the toilet will smell like fresh flowers!

The trump card: high speed internet. Landlubbing means high speed internet ALL THE TIME. Boat living v. landlubbing can basically be boiled down to: nature and community v. internet. Will internet win in the end?!

Six year old needs

July 21, 2017

Taken from a conversation with Freja. I grabbed my notebook to memorialize her needs.

What Freja needs to survive, at 6 years old

1. No scary jaguars;
2. tons of TV;
3. to not go to the hospital;
4. no barracudas;
5. no Pappa saying that Peter Pan is fake;
6. nobody telling me what to do and me doing whatever I want, including candy. (That's the most important one.)
7. Sharks to be good, pretty, rainbow sharks.
8. Mamma and Pappa to take care of me.
9. [and because we prompted...] food, water, shelter, fire

lemonade stand

Identity

taking a moment to appreciate the gorgeous trees all around our city

I've devoted 95% of my brain space, time, and energy for the past 5 1/2 years to my kids. Add to that the past 2+ years where I've devoted the remaining 5% to houseboat-hold and family management, I really should not be surprised that I sit here wondering what my identity is.

There's tons of "identity" talk in mom circles. Work-life-family-self balance. Girls' nights out. Date nights. Spa weekends (ha!). Yoga classes. In this privileged, intentional circle I live in - one in which I choose to stay at home full-time with my kids, forfeiting a paid career for myself, but only b/c my partner can provide enough income for all of us - we're living in the realm of #firstworldproblems.

But here I am. And they're my problems. For the past 5 1/2 years I honestly thought I had it all figured out. Of course I did. That's my personality. I like my life to be ordered, with purpose, with short and long term goals, all neat and pat in one package.  On the side I've had years of grumblings, this nagging feeling of needing to "be productive." Hence blogging, book writing, and endless organizing projects on the boat. I resisted any talk that I was trying to etch out my identity among the dirty diapers and storytimes. I'm a proud person and I also hold myself to the mantra of "you lie in the bed you made," so I have embraced my kids-home life to the fullest. And, yes, I've been loving the past 5 1/2 years.

But hello world. Boy have I had my blinders on. All that identity talk that I scoffed aside - smugly sipping my lukewarm coffee and yelling at the kids to "be quiet for a minute I'm on the phone" - it's hitting home now. The girls are in school now, full-time, and suddenly I find myself with 30 hours a week of time all to myself. Glorious, uninterrupted, alone, quiet, free time. It is AMAZING,

AMAZING.

"fishing" with Hans. He fishes, I bring a book. It was a really, really HOT day.

For the first couple weeks I wrote lists of things I want to do and Hans and I spent so much time together, alone. It was fantastic. Then he went back to work in a full time plus kind of way and my list looked a little hollow. This nagging voice in my head is starting to ask...so, what are you going to do now? What do you want to do now?

(On a sidenote, it's amazing how completely inefficient I am with my time. I could have gotten so much done in terms of boat work, personal health, volunteering, etc. by now, but most mornings I'm still drinking coffee at 11. Am I suffering some kind of PTSD for going for so long without that free time? Or have I completely forgotten how to be a functioning adult without two kids screaming at me?)

So this identity thing is no joke. Yes, it is something that lives in the world of privilege. Yes, it is a #firstworldproblem. But after devoting all your waking (and sleeping) energy in one direction, it's hard to bounce off that tangent and do something different. I feel like I'm staring at my future and it's, mostly, a wide open book. The kids are older, they're less needy, I have more time. And my time is my own. So what do I do?

I have ideas, plans, goals. Some days it's exciting, other days it's daunting, other days I find myself considering homeschooling because the alternative (figuring out who the heck I am now) is a lot more challenging. It's humbling. Feeling like I've known myself for so many years and now realizing that I have a lot of questions and a lot of options and no specific path.

Overall it's very exciting and positive, but, wow. I never expected at 37 years of age I'd be asking myself these questions and contemplating this kind of stuff. At least at 37 I'm much better equipped to tackle this "problem" than I was as a 22 year old new college graduate.

How I'm spending my time so far

• gym membership with a personal trainer
• yoga on the dock
• GED tutoring every wednesday
• Spanish conversation every wednesday
• cleaning, organizing the boat (ha!)
• thinking of boat projects but not doing them
• coffee with friends
• solo beach time! 

• 

  cleaning and organizing. Freja's own space on the boat to create.

   

• 

  and sometimes a boat project. Taking down the changing table!!

   

Adventurer + parent: making the combination happen

...on sailing and fear and parental responsibility

 
One of my favorite things about sailing is the space it gives me to think, or not think. I find it so meditative to be out on the water with only the sound of wind and water lapping against the hull. Yes, sailing is romantic. It can also be meditative when the wind is up and we're heeled over, sometimes burying the rain, scrambling to shorten sail - that's the time when 100% of my attention is on the action at hand. My mind is certainly not drifting to my daily stressors. There's no room for them on board. That's a different kind of meditation.

I've always done some of my best thinking and dreaming out on the water. It's one of the only places that I can let go of the daily grind and just be. The kids feel it too. I'll often hear them singing or humming when they're on deck - caught up in the moment.

Last week I went sailing with a friend who is a newbie and she started asking questions about making long passages. She wanted to know if I was scared when we were out on the ocean, out of sight of land, back in the days when we were cruising in the Caribbean. My answer: no, not really, and for a few reasons: 1) I was 100% confident in our boat and I have enough boat and sailing knowledge that I knew how the boat would react to big waves or big winds, 2) we were prepared for worst-case scenarios, we knew what would happen and how we would deal with man overboard or sinking, 3) we only made short passages so, with the exception of squalls, we were never surprised by the weather, and 4) I was in my 20s, pre-kids. What, exactly, are single, 20-year-old kids scared of?

So now, ten years later with two kids and a little sailboat, I admitted that I do get nervous when it gets windy on the river, or when the boat heels (tips) uncomfortably, or when a gust of wind pushes us. I haven't felt that kind of trepidation since we first started sailing, when I didn't really know what I was doing, and even then it wasn't the kind of "oh shit gut-wrenching fear" that I get sometimes when the kids are aboard.

We have dreams of taking our kids on long sailing trips. I dream of showing them places in the world that are only accessible by boat. I dream of long passages. My friend, similarly, dreams of going on adventures with her family - living in different places, exploring the world, not falling into the easy trap of suburbia. How, then, can these dreams become reality if, as a mother, I now feel a type of protective mama bear fear that I've never felt before? The stakes are infinitely higher when you are responsible for little people. Their lives, literally, are in my hands. (I can see why people choose to stay snugly in suburbia.) The stakes are a little higher, to say the least. With these high stakes and with the fear and with the socially-accepted, easy option of suburbia, how can I be both an adventurer and a parent?

Preparation
We bought a little sailboat last summer because we like sailing. I missed sailing and needed to be out on the water (in an active sense, not sitting on a boat at the dock like I do with 80% of my time). By taking the kids sailing on a regular basis, we're teaching them how to sail and, hopefully, instilling a love of sailing at a young age. (At least we're teaching them that we love sailing and they just have to grin and bear it.) Generally speaking, kids don't like change. By incorporating sailing into their lives at a young age, hopefully it won't be too shocking when we move onto a sailboat, cut the docklines, and sail to the horizon. Here's hoping, at least.

Equipment
Get the right gear that will keep you and your kids safe. This is a big deal. I'd be scared shitless if I were driving down the highway and the kids weren't strapped in carseats. Likewise, I want a boat (my chosen method of adventuring) that has tough enough rigging for strong winds, that has heavy ballast to right itself, and has a sturdy rudder that will stay firmly attached to the boat. I want appropriately-sized ground tackle (anchor and chain) to keep us in one place all night. Hans recently rebuilt the v-berth on our current sailboat so the girls will be more secure when we're underway. Sailing with kids is more relaxing now b/c I don't have to worry about them falling through the gap between the cushions.

Knowledge
Having a strong base of knowledge to fall back on can keep you confident and rational. Knowledge has always been a big thing for me. Before I actually stepped on a boat, I read about sailing. A lot. I practiced knots in the living room. I learned the vocabulary. When, at long last, I finally did start sailing, I wasn't (too) scared of capsizing, I knew how to cleat off the line, and I knew that ropes are called lines. I wasn't always comfortable and I was certainly scared at times, but I knew the reason for everything and I could logically talk myself out of fear.

Planning
Have a good plan in place for the trip or adventure - a plan that considers the basics of sleep and food to more abstract preferences such as personal interests of each person on the trip. Basically, don't get hungry, don't get cold, don't get tired, and make sure everyone is having a good time. Scale back. When we go sailing now with the kids, we go for an hour or two. Enough time to get the wind in the sails, but not really enough time for the kids to get bored and whiney. Change the adventure to accommodate shorter attention spans, hungry bellies, and the need to be with other kids and running around doing kid things.

Community
Find your community of adventurers and embrace it. Make friends - local and long-distance - and get support and encouragement from like-minded people. Choosing adventure over a more traditional lifestyle of house-school-job is challenging. It's hard to go off the beaten track, but having a group of people to bounce ideas off of and get inspiration from is invaluable. Likewise, involve and educate your everyday community (your friends and family) so you can get support and encouragement from those that already love you and your kids.

Flexibility
Go with the idea that plans can and will change, but choosing adventure means being open to the adventure, no matter how that adventure may evolve.

Commitment
Be confident and clear in your dreams and aspirations. Naysayers abound and successful adventuring depends in a large part on remaining steadfast to your own personal commitment. Know why you want to do something different - the short-term benefits and the long-term benefits. There are so many reasons that I want to take my kids on an extended sailing trip (aka cruising), but many of them revolve around the reasons why I feel it is important to travel with kids. I'd like to take them out of their comfort zone to know that with risk comes reward. Sure, traveling by sailboat is often akin to camping, but then you get to an island unpopulated by humans. You see a night sky untouched by light pollution. You hear the earth uninterrupted by human noise. You can sail to an iceberg.

We're still a number of years away from going on a big adventure with our kids, but I'm determined that the adventure will happen. I'm working on making it happen now. We go on small adventures - we go sailing, we go camping, we go on road trips and the kids can easily handle a six hour car ride (thank you DVD player). A stationary life has never been the life for me. I love my community and I love making local connections, but I yearn to see what's around the next corner and what people a few hundred miles away are eating for dinner. With some planning, knowledge, and preparation, I'm confident that I won't let fear or the ease of a more traditional life get in the way of taking off. The promise of adventure is just too great for that.

our monkeys aren't afraid of much

I think they have the adventurer spirit built in to their DNA.

Living Authentically

 A fellow blogger over on Goodie Goodie Gumdrop posed a question in a recent article that challenged me: Tell me how you are living authentically?

Jessica defines living authentically as striving toward a life that makes you happy without fear or naysayers dictating what you choose to do.

Am I living authentically? Yes. In the sense that I am trying my hardest to make life good for myself and my family, while at the same time acknowledging the long view. Is my life 100% perfect and exactly how I want to live? Nope. There are things I want to do now but can't because of my commitment to my family. I've absolutely put a lot of my own aspirations on hold for my family. I have dreams of where I'll be in ten years, and it's not here. Not on this boat at a dock with my husband working and me being the housewife and having my days arranged around playdates and naps. It's great right now because that's where we are in life. I've said it before, right now works, but that doesn't mean it's perfect. It's not perfect and it's not my ideal, but it's authentic. Yes. I am being true to myself and my dreams.

As a family, our authentic life is defined by: a certain amount of self-determination, a certain amount of compromise, and concrete limits (Hans's training and our finances). How do I find the sweet spot of living authentically (read: happily, fulfilled, challenged) within the constraints of regular life? How do I make my current life satisfying and happy when I know it's not my ultimate dream?

Embrace the now
Embracing the now is probably the most crucial component of living authentically. It's impossible to be happy today if I'm only thinking about my ideal life. Embracing the now means doing things that make me happy and also challenge me. Sailing is huge. We have a little sailboat and my happiest moments are spent out on the water. You can call it a hobby or a past time, but, regardless, in order to embrace the now it's important to find an activity where you can just relax and be happy. Running, sewing, playing a team sport, cooking - there are lots of options. I gravitate to being active and outdoors.




Challenge yourself
I struggle with finding challenge in my daily life. Don't get me wrong, I am not a supermom. But, at this point, dealing with tantrums, cleaning up the constant mess, providing space and activities for my kids to be engaged - this is all pretty routine and, while dealing with a tantrum is most definitely challenging in the moment, I'm talking about finding personal challenge for myself that engages a different part of my brain than making pb&j and drawing with sidewalk chalk.

These monkeys keep me on my toes!

After years of dipping in and out of yoga practice, I'm fully one of those yoga people now. Like a friend said: I drank the yoga Kool-Aid. I aim to do at least three videos a week and, in turn, those videos make me feel strong, a tiny bit more flexible, and my bad shoulder is FINALLY starting to feel better.

I would like to start volunteering and I've found an organization that would be a perfect fit for both my schedule and my interests, but it seems like my initial challenge is simply finding a time to meet with the volunteer coordinator. Between her schedule, mine, and my kids being sick, the initial meeting has yet to happen.

Community
I talk about community a lot. It is extremely important to me. (Case in point: two neighbors came rushing over to help yesterday evening when I was home alone and Freja vomited all over the main cabin. LOVE my marina neighbors.)

One of my job titles is stay-at-home-mom, and, like all other professionals, I need colleagues. I have a number of mom friends, near and far, that I rely on for play dates, internet humor, and nap time phone calls of support. I recently started going to a weekly mom's group (childcare provided!), and the support and community offered there is strong.

Eyes on the prize
While I am currently living authentically by focusing on the here and now, I can do so because we have concrete goals for the future. We have a rough time line, we have a plan, we have a clear vision. We know what we want to do and we feel confident that we will get there. It is vital to have a game plan, otherwise we'd swing from branch to branch, looking for the perfect place to land, but taking ten years to get there, as opposed to five if we had a good plan. I keep the plan in my back pocket, so if I'm feeling stuck or having a bad day, I know that it's all part of the bigger picture.

Cutting myself a break
Striving to live authentically can be exhausting. I certainly don't spend every day thinking about how I can make it the best day ever, nor do I want to fall into the trap of just letting the days go by unnoticed and unremarkable. But some days I just chill out. I let the girls watch TV. I read a book on the back deck at nap time. I nap at nap time. I drive the girls to school instead of bike. We order pizza for dinner.


Living authentically means being happy today and dreaming for tomorrow. I try to strike a good balance between the two; I recognize my weakness and try to actively work toward personal challenge; I try to sit back and enjoy the here and now.

Finding your passion

I've never found one grand passion, I've never felt a calling, I've never felt the need to devote most of my energies to a singular cause. I'm passionate about a lot of things: my kids, my husband, travel, sunshine, warmth, sailing, the beach, food; and I can get passionate about a lot of other things: politics, social justice, America's role in the world, gun control, child care and family leave, work-life balance, immigrant rights, and much, much more. Just give me a chance to hop on my soap box and I'll start preaching.

That said, I do not have a specific, career-worthy passion. In our society where people like to know "so, what do you do?" and where caregiving is a devalued occupation, I find it hard to determine how to live my life in a way that makes me happy. Since I've become a mother I've struggled to define my new identity and and settle into that role. I am uncomfortable with that fact that merely having the room to think about my identity is a luxury when many moms are struggling to feed their kids and provide them with a safe place to live. But life is all relative and my "struggle" is real--to me at least.

But in the past six months I've settled into and embraced my identity as a full-time, stay-at-home mom more than ever. I'm Susy Homemaker at times and I'm drinking white wine in the sun on the back deck at 3 in the afternoon at other times. The kids are happy and thriving and I'm (finally) learning to just kick back and enjoy what I have instead of trying to define it.


I see lots of "life is too short" quotes on the internet. Similar to this:

Which lead me to think, life is too short, I should do what I want and do what makes me happy. ....

Thanks for the pic http://www.wherethecoconutsgrow.com/blog/ !!

Yet, there's a reason we quit cruising back in 2009. (Well, yes, we were indeed running out of money, but it was a little more thoughtful than that.) We knew we wanted to do more than be boat bums. We knew we couldn't just kick around the Caribbean indefinitely waiting for plans to develop. (My only plan was to fill a cooler with beer, drag it to a beach that didn't have a beach bar and sell them for $2 a pop. A profitable idea but not much room for upward movement.)

These quotes about living the life you want have always clashed with my desire to actually do something. Can I reconcile doing what I want with being a productive member of society? Can I reconcile the two without having a "passion?"

Yes. Yes! As the girls get older and I have a little more time to breath and think beyond snack and nap schedules and playdates, I'm brainstorming what I can do to make myself happy. Can I have my cake and eat it too? Yes!

Being happy isn't just relaxing on white sand beaches. I do need warmth and sunshine and water and sailboats to be happy, but I also need a little more. I need connection with my community. I need to feel like I am contributing to my community. And while that sounds like work, (and how can work be fun if I don't have a passion?), one of my passions is being with people and engaging with people (people that are bigger than 3 feet tall).

Not sure what or how yet, but I'm tossing around ideas and researching different organizations, and finding ways to get involved and expand my horizons. I'm finding balance in my life and, maybe, just maybe, I'll find a new passion as well.

Choosing optimism

 The Facebook un-reality

My Facebook posts tend to revolve around cute picture of the girls, funny stories of things they did, and personal achievements. My life looks pretty awesome on Facebook. Is it true? Yes. But not 100%. Of course I don’t live in a world that is all sunshine and unicorns. I rarely share the times when Matilda doesn’t nap or the challenges we currently have with her hitting and scratching and pulling hair. I don’t post about the times when Hans and the girls don’t see each other for days in a row because of his work schedule and their sleep schedule. I share the good parts of my life with the world. My social media presence is not an accurate portrayal of my day-to-day. It’s biased, it’s selective, and, yes, it looks like a brag board. But it’s not. At least that’s not my intent.

Choosing optimism


How I portray my life on social media is intentional. I’m intentionally choosing to portray the good stuff, hoping that I can create a top-down trickle-down optimism policy in my daily life. Life is hard. Life can be miserable, lonely, exhausting. And I can choose to focus on the tough times, or, as I tell the girls when they fall: I can get up, brush the dirt off, and go back to playing. I choose optimism as my public presence and I hope that rubs off into my daily life and attitude.

I share pictures like this one, taken at the fort in St. Augustine. Because I want to remember my girls having fun in the towers, spending some great quality time with their Meme (my mom), rather than remembering dragging a screaming Matilda out of a store and a whiney, tired Freja.

It’s a fine line. It’s important to get stuff off my chest before it mushrooms into a bigger problem. Constructive criticism and feedback from peers is invaluable. If I don’t share my struggles with friends and family, I’ll be bogged down with them in my own head. It’s important to analyze our failures and our difficulties in order to learn from them and improve on the future. But if I talk about them too much, if I dwell on them, I won’t be choosing optimism. I’ll be choosing to focus on the hard stuff in life instead of enjoying the good times.

And, really. I'll be glad if in 10 years I don't remember how crappy our NEW fridge/freezer. The one I have to defrost every couple weeks and can't get a repair person out to the boat to fix even though it's under warranty.

Trickle down optimism

There are lots of studies of gratitude. If you keep a gratitude journal, if you verbalize or write down what you are grateful for once a day, you will be happier. Parents that want to encourage empathy and kindness in their kids are advised to help them develop a gratitude practice by sharing something they are grateful for at dinner every night. By actively acknowledging your gratitude, you bring it to the forefront of your thoughts and you feel better about life.

The same can be said for optimism. By actively recognizing and sharing the good things in my life, I’m bringing positivity and happiness to the center of my thinking. Instead of dwelling on my challenges, I’m celebrating what I love about my life. I’m choosing optimism over pessimism.

I promise you, my life is not any more fantastic or miserable than anyone else’s. I struggle, I laugh, I celebrate, I cry, I get in funks, I get frustrated. But I’m working to live in a happy place. And an easy way to do that is to share my triumphs and my joys - to broadcast them to the world, which, at the same time, reminds me that through the hard stuff, there is a lot to celebrate.

And, of course, some days are just really really good. No need to filter my memory.

Breaking out of the mold

Compelling street art from Philadelphia
image courtesy of The Foundist.com

I think it can be safely said that I've never really fit into any mold. Quitting a lucrative and challenging career to live as a sailing bum in the Caribbean, living on a boat, raising kids on a boat, no 401k or life insurance to speak of - I've done it a little differently than my peers.

Yet, at the same time, it's so similar. My husband works full-time, I stay at home with the girls. We have kids. We go grocery shopping. Two cars. Bedtime at 7:30 (for the kids, not us!...although, some evenings...). On a day to day basis, my life veers more toward the hum drum than the unconventional lifestyle that it looks on the surface.


In brief
I want: an unconventional, nontraditional, exciting, adventurous, travel-filled, challenging life that pushes me out of my comfort zone and gives us lots of family time.
I currently have: a pretty staid suburban life. (Albeit aboard a boat, but, still. The boat doesn't go anywhere.)
What we're working toward: a nomadic life, based on family time and free time. 

To further complicate, I was raised and schooled to be a feminist. I struggle on a daily basis against this 1950s lifestyle that we've created for our kids. If I lived in a bubble, in a vacuum, where I wasn't influenced by societal norms and expectations, I'd be totally fine to sit back and say: this is what's working for our family, right now. It will change, it will evolve, but, right now, it's working for us.

But we don't live in a bubble. And I know our kids are happy and living a good life, and, generally, I'm happy and living a good life. But then I come across a study that says that kids of working moms are more successful later in life; that kids that are raised in families where household work is split evenly are more likely to be engaged fathers and men (moot point, I guess, for us since we have two girls, but, still).

The pressure
So I sit here, knowing that, like it has been for the past six years, our current set-up is transitory. We'll be doing something different, and then doing something different again. So I settle in to today, knowing that today is good. I'm looking big picture. Think 5-10 years big picture...then I get excited. The minute I can release myself from the pressures of the mold; once I know that, yes, I will be able to break out of that mold, my mind is at ease and I am so excited for that future to come.

It's amazing to me how much influence our peers and society has on our fundamental beliefs. I feel like I am pretty strong and certain in how I feel and what I am doing, but, yikes, the minute I get too settled in our (floating) suburban lifestyle, I start freaking out. Must set goals, must make plans, must do more. 

The pressure to do more; the pressure to compete; the pressure to measure up and reach certain goals = it's not just adolescents that feel peer pressure.

I read a great article by Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love and Committed to name two of her books), that urged women to just "lighten up." You're good enough, you're doing enough, just chill out and enjoy life. I really struggle with that and I can spin myself in circles and wrap myself up in endless arguments about what I want to be doing, what I am doing, what I should be doing. When, really, I should just lighten up.

Sunrise, at anchor off Amelia Island.

(And the truth that I know: when I am out on the water, on a sailboat. I am happy. Satisfied. Content. Fulfilled Some fundamentals never change. I've known it for 12 years: all I need is a sailboat.)

Living in a tiny space

This article appeared in my Facebook newsfeed yesterday:

Dear People who live in tiny houses

In a witty, tongue in cheek kind of way, the author asks a slew of semi-rhetorical questions to tiny house dwellers. She adds a footnote stating that while the article is half in jest, she truly does wonder "if it’s all peaches and cream like the swanky design magazines suggest." 

I get asked similar questions all the time:
What about guests?
What about privacy?
What about laundry?

I thought I'd take a few minutes to answer her questions.

Since we've made a commitment/plan to continue living aboard for another two years (which will bring our total time as liveaboards to over ten years), I've been thinking a lot recently about why I like living aboard and why it works for us. I watched an episode of House Hunters on Netflix/HGTV last night and the featured couple were on the market for a new home because their two bedroom condo was just too small for them and their toddler. Yet we live, happily, on a boat with two adults and two kids. So why does it work for us and other people need more space?

Is there something fundamentally different about us that makes this small lifestyle possible? Is it because I live in a permanent state of wanderlust and living on a boat gives me the illusion of travel? Is it because we can't commit to one place? Are we gluttons for punishment? Are we too lazy to change?

No, yes, yes, no, no.

But I have come up with my ultimate answer:

We liveaboard because it works for us. Financially and in a lifestyle kind of way. It forces us to be minimalists, to not consume. It kicks us outside where the kids have space to run and we can meet other people (build community). It encourages us to be conscious about what we eat because we have little storage space for food.

But the answer: because it works for us, still leaves people wondering: could I ever live on a boat, in that tiny space? No way, I have way too much stuff. How do you cook? What about laundry? The bathroom is smaller than a closet.

So the follow-up answer, to anyone wondering: Could I do it?, is: Yes! Anyone can live on a boat. But what you can't do is transfer your land-based life to a liveaboard life or a tiny home. They are fundamentally different and can't be swapped out 1 for 1. 

Hans and I knew we wanted to move on a boat when we were in college. We never created the landlubbing lifestyle for ourselves. Yes, we lived in apartments for four years but we never bought nice stuff. When we moved aboard our sailboat we had a yard sale and then donated the rest to Goodwill. We've never gotten used to using a dishwasher or having a washing machine in our living space. We've gotten very good at getting rid of extra stuff that creeps onto the boat and we generally don't spend a lot of time (or money) shopping for stuff.

I have significantly less clothes than other women I know, less dishes, fewer books, the kids have fewer toys, etc. etc. We have less stuff. And sometimes that is hard. I don't want stuff per se, but it would be nice to not be so limited. And don't get me started on having to lug my laundry to the marina 2 times a week. But then I move on. I watch the sunset or swim in the marina pool and I move on. Because I've chosen this life and the benefits far outweigh the inconveniences and the "gee it would be nice if..."

Yes, it is a totally different lifestyle, but I don't think that we are unique individuals, per se. We've just organized our lives a little differently than dirt dwellers and it makes boat living easy(ish).

Choosing a liveaboard lifestyle over a landlubbing lifestyle would just require an acknowledgement of the differences and knowing that life will be different. In good ways and bad ways. Just like a landlubber could come on board and have difficulty with our never-perfect, a little stinky at times, finicky toilets, I walk into a house and think: it would take me forever to clean this place! 

It's different, that's all. Choosing a liveaboard lifestyle would require a mind shift and the understanding that the systems are different (sometimes easier, sometimes harder), but, at the end of the day, my life is rather similar to my peers.

We have two bedrooms, two bathrooms, an eat-in kitchen, a living room with TV, a shower, hot water (!), a outside area, heat and air conditioning, and internet. And we have a dinghy and we can watch the sunrise and sunset every day!

With impeccable timing, my friend Charlotte posted this illustration on her blog recently. The illustration, by Sarah Steenland, is a fellow liveaboard, cruiser, boat mom. Her sense of humor is awesome and she so perfectly captures why we liveaboard:

And the reasons why not? 100% spot on:

Back to the original article that (finally) got me writing again (at least on my blog, I've been doing a lot of tapping away on the keyboard, just not publishing it).



Ms. Modery, 
I hear your questions. I get them. I understand them. And I appreciate your sense of humor too. It's not always pretty (we currently have the pieces of a 48 piece jigsaw puzzle scattered over the floor of the main cabin and I stepped on a Lego in the middle of the night and I'm dreading lugging the big blue Ikea bag up to the marina laundry this afternoon), but, quite often, it's so pretty that it's worth it. Cramped space, lack of privacy, and all.
Sincerely,
Kristen

6 ways to get out of a rut (none of which involve a tow truck)

It's mud season in my home state of Vermont, and the term getting out of rut is taken pretty literally right now. Especially after this winter.

image courtesy of www.subaruoutback.org

 To most people, however, that rut isn't a muddy dirt road, it's the feeling we get when life gets boring. "Same ol', same ol'," "Daily grind," etc. It happens to the best of us. (Well I can't speak for the whole world, but I'd say it happens to all of us.) How do we get out of the rut? What do we do when life is boring? When it's the same thing day in and day out?

1. Start a gratitude journal. Or, if that is too touchy-feely for you, every night before you turn the light out, jot down on a scrap of paper three good things that happened. The idea is to make an effort to recognize the good things that are happening in life, even if life doesn't feel so great.
2. Take one thing that you do every day and do it differently, perhaps even better. The easiest way for me to make my day a little better is through food. I cook a special dinner, bake a loaf of bread, or make a dessert. It makes a regular Tuesday a little more interesting.
3. Get some loving. From a simple hug to something a little more x-rated. Get some love into your life. Human touch has proven health benefits like releasing oxytocin and dopamine.
4. Move! But make it fun. If you love the gym and it makes you happy, go there. But if "working out" is a chore, do something different. Put on some music and dance. Go for a bike ride. Find a kid and play tag. Find a dog and toss the frisbee with it. A little bit of exercise and movement and, most importantly, play will lift spirits.
   

   

   I don't know what this "sport" is called, but these adults were having a blast playing on a Saturday afternoon.

5. Be spontaneous. Instead of driving straight home from work or from picking the kids up at school, go somewhere. Go out for pizza. Stop at the deli and pick up sandwiches and have an impromptu picnic dinner. Call a friend you haven't seen for weeks, or days, and meet for a drink or a walk.

   

   An impromptu trip to a beachside hotel let this boat kid jump on the bed. Something she's only had the chance to do a few times in her life and which she thoroughly loved. The joy that resulted from our spontaneity!

6. Think of a more sustaining way to keep from slipping into "same ol', same ol'." Brainstorm a list of things you like to do, or things you wish you could do more often and make an effort to do them. (Practical things. I love snorkeling over coral reefs, but since I don't live near any crystal clear, tropical water, that's not possible. I'll keep that off the list.) 

I feel like getting stuck in a rut is such an easy thing to do. We go through the daily motions of life - doing what is necessary (eating, working, cleaning, sleeping) and what is easy (Facebook, TV) and we forget to take a break from the necessary and the easy to do what we like. There is a little effort involved, but by acknowledging that the rut exists, and that, yes, life can be boring sometimes, will help you get out of that rut, wipe the mud off, and start making daily and weekly life more interesting, more fun, and more inspiring.

Basking in the sun

A blustery day at the beach.

There was a flurry of activity and then it stopped. I haven't been writing recently and I've stopped obsessively checking my book sale stats on Amazon and Create Space. I guess I'm following my own advice. I'm starting to live more in the here and now, in the actual real present. Instead of writing about what I'm doing and researching things to do on Pinterest, I'm just doing stuff. It helps that the weather is awesome and I'm outside for hours every day. When it's in the upper 70s and low 80s every day and not too humid, it's hard to stay inside and sit in front of the computer.

We took a day trip to Savannah, GA and enjoyed the gorgeous spring flowers.

Instead I'm working on boat projects like renewing the varnish, brainstorming a massive canvas job, and scrubbing the pollen off the decks. We're going to the playground and the pool; and the girls are learning to ride their balance bikes. Best of all, our dock neighbors are doing the same and our end of the marina has become quite a social place.



I've let go of my need (assumed or real) to write every day and I'm enjoying the spring weather and my time with my girls. I have 101 different things to write about but, for now, my writing is seasonal in nature. I'm sure that I'm just out of practice and I'd truly enjoy sitting down every day and typing at my computer, but, honestly, it's pretty nice to read a book on the back deck or do something productive on the boat. It's just too nice outside! I've gotten my book off my computer and out into the real world, I've assessed my options for my life (work full-time in an office or stay at home with the girls) and I've realized that the status quo is rather good.

So for now I'm giving myself a sabbatical from writing and I'm enjoying each day as it comes. This is entirely new for me as I'm always looking toward the horizon and the next harbor, so we'll see how long it lasts.

Island time, defined.

 Island time

I'd never heard of the term "island time" until I spent some time in the Caribbean, in the islands. When I first heard the term, it was often spoken with Western values...fellow boat owners or ex-pats who were trying to get something done, on Western time, and it just wasn't happening. Long lunches, siestas, red tape, power outages, spontaneous national holidays, etc. From a Western point of view, residents of the Caribbean islands operate at a totally different pace than residents of, say, Washington DC or New York City. (Heck, doesn't everyone operate at a different pace than New Yorkers?!) I get it. Born, raised, and having spent the majority of my life stateside, being impatient is almost like an inherited character trait.

Definitely not on island time. Image courtesy of digitalspy.com

You should have seen me in line at Starbucks the other day. (Yes, that was me. Loudly sighing, tapping my foot, checking my phone, sighing again.) By the time I got to the car and gave the girls their promised cake pops, I was ranting up and down about indecisive people and bad customer service. Then I laughed. The girls were happy and my husband was taking a minute to check facebook. The only person who was upset was me. Hang on, didn't I just write and publish a book all about how to live on island time in the rat race?

Island time, as a state of mind

So what does island time mean? It certainly doesn't mean getting all huffy while I wait in line at Starbucks. If I type "island time" into my Pinterest account, I get flooded with images of turquoise water, hammocks, and white sand beaches. Yeah. That's island time. But, to me, it's so much more than that. It's a state of mind. And if it's a state of mind, it can be independent of geography. Of course lounging in a hammock and sipping a rum punch are very conducive to island time, that's not necessary. How do you feel when you're lying in that hammock?

Relaxed.
Calm.
Connected to nature.
Settled.
Quiet.
Restful.

Easier said than done

I type this as one of my girls is napping on the living room floor after screaming for half an hour that she wasn't going to sleep and the other one is on and off fussing in her bed. Typical toddler: deliriously happy, no, wait, furiously angry. I have a lot of background chatter that pulls at my heartstrings and makes it very difficult to achieve that kind of hammock relaxation.

Relaxing in a hammock, figuratively

Hanging out with my girls. Not on a tropical beach, but definitely relaxed and happy.

But I also know what relaxing like that feels like, and I try to order my priorities and my to-do list to be more conducive to internal island time. I cross things off without doing them. If it needs to get done, it'll get done. I go outside, a lot. I meet with friends, a lot, and create and embrace my community. I do things that make me happy - I cook, I bake, I write. I embrace the concept of mañana, mañana. And I still get stressed. There is always a million things to do and places to be and people to see. But I try to prioritize the here and now with the goal of living the good life today. Being happy, today.

How about you? What does your island time look like?

A new year's resolutions, +31 days

(Let me preface this by saying that I am a Type A person in many aspects. I love lists. I love writing things down and coming up with plans. I love being organized. If you don't, then this kind of intentional life improvement, for lack of a more sexy term, may not be for you.)

Image courtesy of Stephen Halpin

New Year's resolutions - the February 1 update

31 days ago was the big day for dreaming up and writing down resolutions. Today is February 1st, seems like a good day to check in. Did you write resolutions? Are you on track to sticking to them? Every year on January 1 when the new year rolls, we have the tendency to feel refreshed and inspired. Some people set forth minor goals like recycling more, while others tend toward the more grandiose like losing weight or quitting smoking. My goals are...unwritten (at least on pen and paper. I typed a little about this a couple weeks ago). We have a little red book where I like to write down our favorite memories from the previous year and resolutions and goals for the upcoming year. It's February 1st and we just haven't gotten to it. (I also haven't gotten around to sending out thank you cards for Christmas presents, but that's a whole 'nother story. I have a pipe dream of sending out Valentine's cards, but, at the rate I'm going, those may not arrive in people's mailboxes till April.) But let's pretend that my goals are written down. And let's pretend yours are too. It's so easy to let that new year excitement dwindle away till you forget the commitments you made for the new year. So, in the spirit of resolutions, let's resolve to check in on the first of every month. Pull out that red book or the sticky note where you scribbled down your goal. Are you on track?

Smaller time frame, smaller resolutions

So maybe, like me, you haven't specifically written down your resolutions. Or maybe you feel so daunted by the prospect of sticking to one big goal all year that you simply skipped it this year. Here's another idea: monthly resolutions. Even weekly resolutions. Bite off a little at a time. Narrow your focus. It can be simple: I'll read the newspaper once a week. Or, I'll go for a run once a week. On March 1 I'll check in again. Did I work on that goal? How did it go? And then I'll make a new one.

Taking stock of the important stuff

This very tangible way of "taking stock" of what is working in our lives helps push us toward the intentional life. It's easy to swing on the pendulum. To go from day to day and then suddenly the year is over...to....over-thinking, over-analyzing, basically being too introspective. So my idea is to focus on one goal per month, put it in the back of my mind and then reassess after 30 days. I'll be tuned into a specific goal but, at the same time, I'll be living my day-to-day life.

Here's to February Resolutions. I'll be back in touch on March 1.

Oh yeah...my February Resolution: be more patient with my eldest kid at bedtime.

A dream come true

s/v Whisper at anchor in Salt Whistle Bay, Mayreau, The Grenadines

This photo is so much more to me than just a beautiful tropical beach photo. In the years preceding our sailing trip, we worked and worked, both at our paid jobs and on the boat. Saving money and preparing the boat for the voyage. We were in Washington, DC and my first job was as an assistant to an attorney who represented oil companies. Nope, I wasn't saving the world friends. My "office" was a partitioned cubicle in the middle of the firm's office with no windows. Just the charming gray felt board that is the ubiquitous cubicle wall. I filed documents, I reorganized all the cases and the filing system, I typed up hand written notes and briefs. I edited. I made phone calls. I answered the phone. Are you asleep yet? Because I was. What kept me going? My daily workout at the gym, a good friend who worked in the same office, and a photo. Tacked up to that gray felt board was a photo, very similar to the one I took off Whisper's bow, years later. I had ripped it out of a magazine, it was a photo off someone else's boat, someone else's bow, of a tropical island, somewhere. I knew that someday we were going to sail our own boat to that tropical island.

We did, and I have the picture to prove it.

I'm not surrounded by gray felt board anymore (thank God), but I am beginning to feel the same feelings of waiting. We're in-between. We're waiting for the next big thing. We're biding our time while Hans gets his skills and knowledge down pat. We know that something bigger and something better is around the corner, we're just not there yet. So we do what we did when we lived in DC: we make the best of the time we have now, because, yes, now is really, really good.

Motivated to write

I’ve been reading the wrong books. I want to read a lot to inspire and engage me and encourage me to write more. Learn from your peers and all that. I’ve been reading page-turners because those are relaxing and if I have a good page-turner, chances are that I’ll read a book instead of wile away my time in front of the computer. But I’m not writing. No inspiration. No motivation. A couple days ago I picked up a book about a guy who gets in a boat and cruises the US Gulf Coast - from the Texas-Mexico border to the Dry Tortugas. He cruises the entire distance. It is so engaging and so entertaining and so . . . so well written. Reading it makes me want to crumple up my manuscript (theoretically of course since I don’t have it in any kind of hard copy format) and rewrite the whole thing.

This author, Peter Jenkins, writes so naturally and so fluidly. It’s matter-of-fact and funny and fun. It’s well-written but it’s not poetic and rhythmic and pretty. It’s just words on paper, him retelling a story that he lived. That’s the kind of writing I like. I want to like the poetic style of non-fiction (it feels so literary to me, so high brow, surely I should like it!), but when I read something good, something that simply conveys the story, it’s good. Plain and simple good.

A few years ago when I first acknowledged my inclination to write, my mom, ever my champion, sent me a few books about the art of writing. They are old, but timeless. They don’t contain grammar rules or tips on how to reach your ideal audience. They contain snippets and paragraphs and anecdotes of writerly wisdom. The most important piece of advice is a common one: just sit down and write.  Write whatever comes out of your head and onto paper. I type, so when I want to write I sit down and type whatever words flow from my head and through my hands. Write plainly. Write clearly. Write without thought to style or prose. Tell your story in simple words. Don’t try to entertain, don’t try to be funny. Don't try, just write. (Is this "Nike for Writers?")

That is hard advice to put into practice. I’m a bit of a (read: major) perfectionist when it comes to grammar and sentence structure and overall theme and content of a piece. I like love (let’s be honest here) outlines and lists. It is very hard for me to type and type and type without re-reading each sentence the second after I type a period. Don't even get me started on fact-checking and substantiating my claims. But words don’t flow when you’re constantly analyzing them and thinking about your audience. Words don’t flow when you’re trying  to achieve an objective, be it humor, rhythm, fact, or style. In my writer's heart, I believe that style is innate. If you write enough, your own style will develop. And your own style is good.

I self-critique a lot. A lot. I have little idiosyncrasies in my writing that I don’t like. I write too many lists. I have my own set of comma rules (Carbonetti's comma rules, to be precise. Like an inside joke, you have to have been there. 10th grade English class.) and I put too much emphasis on transition words. I sacrifice getting words down on paper because I spend too much time worrying about nit-picking my own work instead of just writing.

My cure? It’s back to that old adage: write, and write a lot. Every day. Exercise the creative muscle. I’m excited to start a new project. I don’t know what it is, but I’m sure that it will come to me through my daily writing, my daily exercise. And, maybe, just maybe, if I get used to writing every single day, I’ll stop reading my writing as I write. I’ll get so used to writing that I’ll just write. The words will flow and it will be easy. Because when it’s good (at least when I think so), it’s good. The writing is easy and fun and the words flow. They really do. When I overthink, that’s when it gets clunky. So here’s to more flow and less clunk!