The Boating Commune

You can't write your story before it happens

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When I bought this boat, I expected to live very independently. Fishing for my own food, baking my own bread, a self-reliant floating home for two. As it turns out, live aboard life in the Caribbean is a communal experience. Boats sail between anchorages- island nooks that are somewhat protected from wind, big waves, and other elements- and the people living on boats in each anchorage tend to introduce themselves to each other and become fast friends.

The other day, we took a ride on our dinghy (the small boat that functions the same as a car does- big boats can’t get close to land unless they’re at a dock) around an anchorage and met another young couple living aboard.

“We had a lot of luck today spearfishing, do you want to come over for dinner?” They had collected two large lobsters (Bahamian lobster season has come to a close- this was while lobster were still legal to catch) and speared two large fish. Refrigeration is limited on boats and food can be scarce. Lucky fisherman share the wealth and when we visited their boat, several other couples joined. We drank and ate and commiserated.

SV Moxie

This is the way of life on boats. When someone’s boat breaks down- and someone’s boat has always broken down- anyone nearby with electrical or engine knowledge helps out. People share food and drinks and labor and wifi. New friends sail together between anchorages and split “household tasks” alternating hosting and cooking for everybody in the group. Even strangers in Facebook groups make a real, significant effort to help each other.

I did not expect to live so collaboratively- on the boat or ever in my adult life- and it’s been a very pleasant surprise. Here is a confession. When I bought this boat, I had a story pre-written in my head about exactly how life on board would be. I had a memoir in my mind and planned to live it so that I could write it. The story has unfolded very differently than I expected. But it isn’t a worse story, just a different one.

Recently, some doors have opened for me that I thought were closed forever. Personal and professional opportunities that I did not think I would ever have. To take those opportunities, I will likely need to sell this boat. And I do love this boat. It’s a bittersweet situation and I feel sad and excited. Ambivalent and proud. Because I did what I set out to do, I bought the boat and lived on it and learned to sail and learned to be a grown up and do hard things and make hard choices. I know that if I sell this boat people will say, “I knew she would sell it, I knew this was a mistake.” I used to be embarrassed by that idea. I am not any more.

My girls, doing something for a time and learning from it is not a mistake. Failure is giving up on yourself. Failure is not making a choice and then making a new one. If you have grown, you have not failed. I am, of course, disappointed that I am probably not going to live in the Caribbean for years and years. But I have always been a New Yorker at my core. And I love the ocean and boats more than I did a year ago. I am so grateful.

With all my love, I wish you smooth sailing wherever life takes you,

Hannah

PS: If you know anyone who is interested in buying a very well maintained Lagoon 42 owners version, please email me.

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