I stood back, waiting for Jeremy to be done digging into the fridge. There’s no real way for 2 people to be in the galley simultaneously, so it’s just easier to wait. He scooted into the cockpit and I shifted to doing the dishes. Partway through, the faucet started sputtering. Of course. Out of water. I wiped suds off my hands, hooked the ladder into place overhead, picked up the floorboard, and switched the tanks. Add “fill water” to tomorrow’s list. When the dishes were doing their air dry thing, I made my way up the ladder to the cockpit, then down the ladder to the ground. Grabbed the bucket that has a handle, went around the boat to the (handle-less) slop bucket that catches all our sink water, dumped the slop bucket into the other bucket, and carried that one to the land facilities. Did I mention it took 2 trips to fully empty the slop bucket?

Then the day started. Phone calls to the insurance company, trying to wrap up a recent claim. Dealing with finances. Phone calls to propane companies trying to find one that will recertify the (insanely expensive, still good) aluminum tanks we have for Mischief. Break for writing a blog post. Post on Facebook looking for a propane place. Break to make lunch. Back to the phone call marathon, this time armed with some FB-generated intel. Oooooh maybe this place will do it! Wait! Another spot to try? They say they WILL do it? Brilliant! “Jeremy! I’m heading over to the eastern shore! Time to get these tanks taken care of!” 2.5 hours and $50 later, I’m back at the boatyard, tanks filled and good for another 5 years. That saved us $800. I’ll take it.

What was your day like?

It hits me occasionally how weird it is that other people are living completely different lives. My world revolves around boats and boat work, weather and provisioning and where I can get access to a laundromat; other people’s lives revolve around farming, or commuting, or worrying about sick family members. All of these so radically distinct existences are going on simultaneously. Each one, though, is 100% real for the person living it.

“Don’t you miss real life?” someone asked me recently. As if somehow our life on board is fake. I know that’s not how they meant it. The feeling behind the question is likely based in a bit of envy, a bit of myth. My life on a boat must be all beaches and umbrella drinks, one long vacation that’s far away from a 9-5 office existence or toddler wrangling. “Real life” is what everyone else does, right?

It’s true that there are pinch-me aspects to this liveaboard life. The scenery is frequently the stuff of magazine covers, with sparkling water and sandy beaches. Our schedule is largely free from constraints placed on us from outside. There are also aspects that never make the magazines. The dirty, difficult, expensive work associated with any haul out, whether planned or not. The constant monitoring of weather and recalibrating plans in response.

We have a number of friends who have recently moved to Spain. They were enticed by the lower cost of living, the climate, the general ease of life. When they come back to the US or Canada to visit, I wonder - do they get asked the same question about “real life”? Or is it the “living on a boat” angle that’s so hard to wrap minds around? My guess is the “real life” confusion is that so many people have an incredibly tough time understanding any existence outside of their own. It’s sad, arrogant, selfish, shortsighted - all at the same time. Do they ask people living in places where they vacation if they’re missing “real life”?

It’s all real life. All of it. Yours, mine, the people next door and the people living in countries on the other side of the world. My life is real when I’m snorkeling in gorgeous clear water or walking a mile to the laundromat with my bag of smelly clothing over my shoulder; my life is real when I’m driving on the New Jersey Turnpike or talking to the kids on the phone. Just because your “real life” includes other things doesn’t mean it’s the only version of “real” that there is.

Maybe it’s time to channel your inner Ted Lasso. “Be curious, not judgmental.” What wonderful conversations we can have.