Last week I took a deep breath, gave the email a final look and pressed "send." Thus notifying my broker†, Dave, that I was ready to begin the search for my boat. I took this step with a mixture of excitement (over the anticipated joys of living aboard), trepidation (over the anticipated rigors of living aboard), and a dash of "Susanne are you nuts!?!"
It's appalling how much stuff I've accumulated over the years! When I moved from Kentucky to Maryland in 2004 I got rid of a lot of electronic junk I thought I might use someday - but never did. When I moved from Maryland to DC I downsized again, but still I had a storage unit stuffed to the ceiling. Finally, when I moved from my small studio apartment (lovingly nicknamed Space Station Susanne because it had about the same internal volume as SkyLab) to the one-bedroom that I currently occupy, I had enough room to bring boxes out of storage and begin going through all of it item-by-item.
Ok, so this blog post is a coming-out of sorts - I'm one of those "crazy" people who has, until now, secretly aspired to live aboard a sailboat. Growing up in Southern Virginia, summer activities often centered around the water. My dad, a jack-of-all-trades, built the first boat the family owned out of plywood and fiberglass. It was a small powerboat, but I remember it seeming huge to me - I was 5 or 6 at the time. Later, my family owned other powerboats and enjoyed spending time picnicking and water skiing on various lakes in the area.