I’ve been attending boat shows for more than a decade, and while anything that becomes part of your work can sometimes lose a little of its shine, I still remember the first one I went to as the life-changing moment it truly was. It wasn’t a slow drift into a new life; it was a headfirst plunge.
My love of boats began in small, unmistakable ways. At 10, I spent a summer on a tiny island off Ireland’s west coast where, on Sundays, villagers were rowed to the mainland for Mass in a wooden dory. In the 1970s I crossed the Atlantic several times on Russian and Polish liners with my family, and as an adult I was lucky enough to join a few charter yacht trips courtesy of a generous sibling. I didn’t grow up on boats, but every time I stepped aboard a ferry, a working boat, or a yacht, I felt a profound and immediate joy.
So when a midlife crisis nudged me toward reinvention, it felt fitting to imagine a future at sea. I plastered my office walls with photos of rugged workboats and graceful trawlers and let my mind roam. The decisive catalyst came at a boat show: rows of Krogens, Nordhavns, Grand Banks and Selenes lined the docks, each promising a different version of life afloat. The sight of those vessels—handsome, seaworthy, and outfitted for comfort—lit something in me. I could see myself at the helm, sipping coffee on an aft deck, reading on a rain-sheltered morning at anchor, or watching the horizon from a flybridge at dusk.
That day at TrawlerFest in Solomons Island, Maryland, the light was clear and the air suggested the edge of autumn. After a long drive I walked along the marina and felt my heart racing, the way it does when you know a major decision is imminent. I imagined the capabilities of each boat and how, with the right preparation, any one of them could take me anywhere I wanted to go. The possibilities felt both practical and romantic, a combination that was impossible to resist.
So I did it: I quit my job, sold my house, bought a trawler and enrolled in seamanship school to gain professional mariner training. I wasn’t reckless—I prepared. Then I delivered the boat from Florida to Maine, a passage that taught me more about seamanship, weather, and boat handling than any book ever could. That delivery trip, like many of the passages since, was both challenging and exhilarated me in equal measure.
Looking back, I can say I was right: living aboard has given me a life that both satisfies and surprises. Boat ownership has tested me with storms, maintenance challenges and long, contemplative stretches at sea, but it has also soothed and delighted beyond measure. Each season brings new lessons—navigation techniques to refine, weather systems to respect, anchorages to discover—and that variety keeps the passion alive.
Boating doesn’t expire. It’s an enduring obsession precisely because every voyage is different. Even familiar routes take on new character with shifting weather, tides and seasons; every harbor presents fresh people to meet and new needs to solve. For anyone considering the move to a liveaboard or long-distance cruising, the best preparation is practical training, realistic expectations about maintenance and downtime, and an appetite for the unpredictable.
This season I plan to visit boat shows not only as a marine journalist but as a committed mariner and boat owner. There’s something comforting about walking a dock and recognizing that, despite varying sizes and styles, all of us who choose this life belong to a fortunate community. We willingly accept an impractical lifestyle because the rewards—quiet dawns, distant horizons, a sense of self-reliance—are priceless. There’s a sort of quiet genius in choosing joy over convenience.
We’ve found our perfect worlds afloat; the challenge is to keep enjoying them, to keep learning and to savor the small rituals that make life at sea so rich: preparing a passage plan, checking the weather twice, polishing a brass fitting, lending a hand to a fellow boater in a tight anchorage. These are the practices that sustain the lifestyle and deepen the love of boating.
For newcomers, a few practical notes that guided me: attend boat shows to see layouts and systems in person, invest in seamanship training before longer passages, and accept that every boat will require ongoing maintenance. For experienced owners, keep showing up—at boat shows, rallies and on the water—because the community and the shared knowledge are invaluable.
We are lucky to have chosen a life that places us, even temporarily, beyond the clamor of daily stresses. The sea stretches our imagination and our resilience in equal measure. Keep learning, keep cruising, and don’t forget to enjoy the view.
This article originally appeared in the November 2015 issue.