The Guilt, Stress and Loneliness of Living Your Best Life

There's a surprising amount of emotional baggage that comes with becoming a liveaboard cruiser.

Let me start by making one thing very, very clear: I am grateful, on a daily basis, that Nick and I have been so incredibly fortunate that we have been able to fulfil our dream of living on our own boat. Many people dream of unshackling themselves from the daily grind and embracing a liberating, nomadic, self-sufficient lifestyle; very few actually have the chance to see that dream become a reality. This may be due to pragmatic matters such as financial constraints or commitments at home; or perhaps some people are content to keep their dreams private, knowing they’ll never be realised, and satisfied with living vicariously through others. I know we often get comments to the effect of: “I’ll never be able to do what you do, but I love watching your videos because it gives me a glimpse into a dream that will never be my reality.” These comments are incredibly humbling, and always make me feel so fortunate that we’ve been able to- in a very real sense- live the dream.

Now that’s out the way, I do want to delve into the less-discussed emotions that are often part and parcel of living on a boat: guilt, stress, loneliness and more. This isn’t something I ever anticipated back in the good old days when Nick and I were in the planning stage, but it’s certainly a set of emotions we’ve become more and more familiar with, particularly given the additional layer of success that comes with having our own YouTube channel: we’re not only living the dream, but we’re making money from simply picking up a camera and filming it! How blessed are we!?

I don’t want to delve too deeply into the work/YouTube side of things: that’s a whole other topic on its own, and one I do want to talk about in depth at some point, but not today. Today, we’re talking about the mix of emotions that applies to almost every liveaboard cruiser: that duality of (well-deserved) excitement and elation, alongside guilt, homesickness and loneliness- and, quite possibly, anxiety and stress associated with adjusting to your new lifestyle and new boat. Often, we’ve dreamed and planned for years about this chapter of our lives, and when the time finally comes to move onboard our floating home, there’s just a *lot* to deal with. I think I’m yet to meet a cruiser who didn’t find that transition a little bumpy, at the very least.

Freeeeeeeedoommm!!

First, let’s talk about guilt- in my opinion, one of the worst emotions. Unlike stress or homesickness, guilt never quite goes away, even when the circumstances have been rectified. In our experience, the guilt is twofold: the less powerful version is the guilt associated with many fortunate developments in one’s life, whether that’s a promotion or buying a nice big house, going on a holiday, having a baby: when your own life is- presently- going quite well in comparison to your peers, many of us feel a little guilty about that. We don’t want to brag about how very amazing our life is, but we also want to shout it from the rooftops because isn’t it great when things are going well? I’m not linking this to financial success, although there is that- but any happy development in one’s life can bring on this mixed emotion of feeling elated and guilty at the same time. I wish we (well, I; Nick is less prone to this particular brand of guilt thankfully) could just bask in our own happiness without feeling the need to play it down for the benefit of our friends or family who may (or, honestly, may not) be envious.

When we first moved onboard, we just assumed that everyone we knew wished they could follow in our footsteps. That sounds incredibly arrogant, but to us, we were living the absolute dream- surely everyone in the world wishes they could move onto a boat and sail into the sunset? But of course, in reality, very few people envy our lifestyle- most sensible souls are quite happy living in a house that is in no danger of dragging out to sea in the middle of the night, or being subject to the whims of Mother Nature- and it’s worth reminding ourselves of that.

Tangentially, I remember in the years before we moved onboard Ruby Rose, I used to share our plans with my friends and family. It always amazed me how few people actually cared all that much. Surely, I thought, the prospect of living on a boat was as exciting to everyone else as it was to me?! But no. A few select people- always the ones you don’t expect- shared my enthusiasm and would regularly ask for updates or interrogate me for details. But the vast majority of my friends and family were perhaps just a little bewildered, and a lot ambivalent. Turns out sailing around the world isn’t a dream that is shared by everyone- who knew!?

Back to guilt. There’s another type of guilt, this one far more impactful and shared almost universally by cruisers: the guilt of leaving behind your loved ones, and this is strongly associated with homesickness. This may be parents who aren’t getting any younger, or young children and babies (other people’s babies- you have to take yours with you, I’m afraid) who are changing week by week. When my sister had a baby, there was a fundamental shift in how I viewed life on our boat. For most of my adult life, I’ve been flitting between adventures, flying home periodically for a chaotic few weeks of quality family time, before bounding off back to whence I came. But when my niece arrived, I knew I wanted to be there not just for those short bursts of fun, but also for those more mundane moments: babysitting so my sister and her partner can have a date night; going to the end of year ballet performance; picking her up from Kindergarten because my sister had an appointment; looking after her when she’s sick and my sister needs to run some errands.

I know many cruisers of retirement age have grandchildren back home, and it’s incredibly painful to be away from the young ones in your family. At the same time, Nick’s parents are reaching that stage in their lives where he wants to be more present, too. At least with modern technology, we can video-call, but it’s not the same as being there in person. This is a constant struggle, and one we’ve changed our cruising plans to work around. Being in Europe, there is a very clear off-season where the boat is generally in winter storage. This is our time to head home and spend time with our families.

My lovely girl back when she would only nap whilst having a cuddle.

Let’s move on to another cheery subject: the issue of loneliness onboard. For introverts, the prospect of living on a boat with no-one to bother you can truly be the dream. For extroverts like Nick, it’s extremely difficult being isolated and cut off from the energy of others.

Also- living on a boat is stressful, you guys. I know it seems like we’re just floating around without a care in the world, but the reality is that there’s almost always something that needs fixing or managing in some way. Even when everything’s running smoothly, you’re sure to be woken up in the middle of the night by a boat dragging into you, or dealing with inclement weather on passage, or going to make some bread only to find your flour is full of weevils. Lots of things, big and small, conspire to make cruising actually quite stressful. Being around others can be a huge release valve for that stress, which is why us cruisers are such a sociable bunch. Just the opportunity to talk to someone else (literally, anyone else) other than your partner or family or whoever you’re onboard with, is so therapeutic. The topic of conversation can be benign (the weather, unsurprisingly, comes up a lot); or it can immediately delve into more thorny issues (I once found myself sat next to a fellow cruiser who immediately upon introducing herself embarked on a lengthy outpouring of frustration over her husband’s many failings as a human and how unhappy she was onboard with no-one else to talk to). Whatever the subject, just having that human contact with someone else is so critically important to combatting the stress and loneliness that comes with living an otherwise isolated lifestyle.

Speaking of stress, a topic that we’ve comprehensively covered on our YouTube channel is the steep learning curve associated with buying, moving onto, and learning to sail a new boat. With Ruby Rose, our first liveaboard, we bought her several years before setting off. We had the advantage of learning slowly, at our own pace, without the additional stress and complications that come with actually living on the boat and cruising. We simply left her in the marina and would come down on weekends to either go out sailing or just stay onboard. Nick spent years fitting most of the systems himself- he installed the solar panels, the hydrovane, the SSB radio (very old school; at the time, we wanted one for the ARC rally we intended to do) and practically everything else. He even made the cockpit cushions. We slowly eased ourselves into cruising, too, first with a week up the East Coast, then with a month-long cruise to France the following year. It helped that the boat was fairly small (38 foot), with simple systems and easy to manage.

On a nice little lean, sailing in France on Ruby Rose.

However, when we moved onboard Ruby Rose 2, it was a completely different story. We assumed that we’d have to unlearn a few things, and learn a few more things, but that the overall transition from monohull to catamaran would be pretty smooth. After all, so many other sailors manage- we’d be totally fine. I mean, look how experienced we were! Not one but two ocean crossings under our belt, years of living on a boat, an extremely comprehensive research stage where we reviewed almost every catamaran on the market- surely we’d be up and running after a week or two of ‘learning the ropes’ and on our way into the sunset on our beautiful new catamaran.

Uh…no. That’s not how it went at all. There were, admittedly, some extenuating circumstances in that we were on hull #2 of a brand new model and, as such, teething issues were to be expected. The systems onboard were also far more complex meaning when something did go wrong, chasing down the actual problem was time consuming and sometimes felt a little overwhelming. But it turns out we were not alone. Overwhelmingly, we were told by other sailors who had gone through similar transitions from smaller, simple boats to larger, complex ones, that they, too, found the process far more stressful and challenging than they had ever expected. I think this would be true of anyone buying a boat at the same time as becoming a liveaboard cruiser: you’re really jumping in the deep end by taking on the double challenge of learning a new vessel as well as undertaking a major lifestyle change (often in a different, unfamiliar country) all at the same time. If you’ll allow me to continue the obvious metaphor, you really do either sink or swim. Some cruisers never quite make it to the ‘swimming’ part- at best, they achieve a lot of flailing- and return home. There’s absolutely no shame in this. Off the top of my head, I can think of several couples who found the whole process of moving onboard their big, new, beautiful (complex, intimidating, powerful) boat so overwhelming and stressful that they put the vessel in storage and went home for a break. Any cruiser reading this can probably sympathise.

We met a couple recently- who we absolutely adore- who had bought a very large catamaran. Larger than ours, far more expensive and more complex and powerful. We were impressed- they had much less sailing experience than us, and had never owned a boat before let alone lived on one. They were very open with us about how difficult they were finding the transition. The gentleman said, without any sense of irony, “I’m honestly considering packing a bag, loading up the dinghy with my dog, wife and a few essentials, then lighting a match and going ashore to watch the boat burn to the waterline.” We sympathised. They later put the boat in a marina, and to the best of my knowledge haven’t been back to visit her since (if you’re reading this, you know who you are- I need an update!).

Any excuse to use this image! But seriously, cruising can be fun sometimes too ;)

Okay, look. I know you want me to end this on a positive: “Oh, but it’s totally worth it, and just follow this simple advice and you’ll be fine!” I wish I could tell you that mitigating against these issues is easy, but it ain’t. However, I do have some advice for you, if you’re considering buying a boat, moving onboard, and sailing into the sunset:

• Go for the smaller, simpler boat, particularly if it’s a financial strain to buy the bigger/newer option. A bigger boat does not make this lifestyle easier, as tempting as it might be to believe that the more house-like your boat is, the smoother the transition.

• Keep an open line of communication with your significant other, or whoever you’re living with. Chat about how you’re feeling. If one of you wants to slow down, take a break, stop for a while, do everything in your power to accommodate that.

• Seek out other cruisers. Choose a cruising ground that’s popular- the Caribbean or Bahamas or Greece are all good options. If you’re crossing the Atlantic or Pacific, seek out one of the rallies- you may not need or want the shoreside support, but the opportunity to make friends is too good to give up.

• It’s okay to put the boat into storage and go home; in fact, it’s strongly advised if you’re feeling homesick.

• There’s no ‘right way’ to be a cruiser. If you want to head into the nearest marina and live there for the next 6 months, do it. If you want to leave your boat for a few months (or more) to go home, do it. I recently read on one of the online sailing forums that a British couple had been cruising the Ioanian (a region of Greece) for ten years. They never felt the need to move on and explore anywhere else. I completely understand- if you find somewhere you like, stay there. You don’t need to be moving around just because you think it’s what cruisers do.

We, on the other hand, have always been constantly on the move.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this one! Let me know in the comments below if you have anything to add.

(and yes, it’s worth it!)

Cheers,
N&T