Some mornings I wake up to the sound of water gently lapping against the boat, sunlight pouring through the hatches. Or the soft stirrings of Philou in the cabin next to me, when I am working, while being surrounded by beautiful blue water. It’s peaceful, beautiful, still.

And I find myself thinking, This feels like a holiday. But it’s not a holiday. This is our life.

We live aboard our boat in the Mediterranean. We wake, we cook, we do laundry, we fix things (boats always need fixing), we work, we raise Philou, and we try, in our own way, to contribute something meaningful to the world. It’s ordinary life in many ways, just with a turquoise-blue backdrop.

And that contrast, between the rhythm of daily life and the setting of a vacation brochure, sometimes stirs something unexpected in me: guilt.

It creeps in subtly. When I see others commuting to jobs they don’t love. When I hear about the latest chaos in the news. When I’m on a call with someone who’s sitting in an office under fluorescent lights while I’m practically barefoot on the deck with the sea breeze in my hair.

I find myself wondering.

Why do I get to live like this? Have I done enough to deserve this? Is it okay to be content, even when others are not?

And I know, deep down, these thoughts come from old conditioning, from stories I didn’t write but somehow inherited.

I grew up with the same messages most of us did:

💪🏼 Work hard, earn your rest, succeed, then enjoy.

💪🏼 Life should feel productive, not peaceful.

But the truth is, I am working. I’m contributing, creating, parenting, showing up. I just do it in a space that nourishes me, and instead of burning out, I feel (well mostly) full.

This isn’t about escapism. It’s not about pretending the world’s problems don’t exist. It’s about choosing to live in a way that feels honest and alive to me, and building from that place.

I still have hard days. Chores pile up. Parenting tests every limit. Projects stretch me. Living on a boat isn’t always dreamy, it’s often damp, unpredictable, and logistical. Especially when somethings break down. But it’s ours. It’s deliberate, and it’s deeply, quietly joyful.

I’m learning, slowly, very slowly, to stop apologizing for that joy.

To stop questioning whether I’ve earned a life that simply feels good.

To stop mistaking struggle for worthiness.

Because joy isn’t something to earn, it’s something to embody. And in doing so, we give others silent permission to imagine a different way too.

We wash dishes with a picture perfect ever changing view. We anchor in coves that make me catch my breath. We argue about boat jobs and logistics, we listen to music, we get salt-crusted and sun-kissed. We dance and sing silly songs with Philou and watch the sun go down before she goes to bed. We live this strange, simple, beautiful life, every day.

And yes, it still feels like a holiday sometimes. And maybe that’s not something to feel guilty about. Maybe it’s something to be grateful for.

Because living in alignment, even when it looks different, is never something to apologize for. 🙏🏻

Written by: Mirjam