Today marks exactly one year since we set off. This morning, we sipped our coffees on a quiet Greek beach, looking out over our boat as it gently floated in the bay. A picture-perfect scene, like something out of a travel brochure.
We realised it was exactly a year ago that we left Rotterdam behind, after weeks of intense stress and endless to-do lists. Much has been written about that period, so we won’t revisit it here. Instead, we found ourselves reflecting: what’s actually changed? How do our expectations compare to reality? And how are we truly experiencing life on board?
We both took some time to think about it.
Small Spaces, Big Adjustments
From a practical point of view, Edwin pointed out that living in a small space has been surprisingly easy. Our boat has the ideal layout, just as we’d hoped, allowing space for work, play and everyday life. But finding a rhythm didn’t happen overnight. It took time, effort, and yes, a fair amount of trial and error. There were moments of friction, frustration and feeling overwhelmed, especially in the beginning. Adjusting to life afloat meant rethinking how we live, how we work, how we parent, and how we make space for ourselves and each other.
Before departure, we had many conversations about how we’d organise our days as a family. Balancing time for boat work, professional commitments, parenting Philou, being together and also finding time for ourselves. The reality has shown us that balance isn’t a fixed point. It’s something you continually work at and often renegotiate.
That said, it has worked out better than expected. We now spend much more time together as a family, and our daily rhythm is mostly shared, with short moments carved out individually. When one of us is working or fixing something on the boat, the other is with Philou, and that division works well for us.
Daily Life at Sea
Life on board suits us. It’s structured, clear, and the tasks are well divided. There’s a simplicity to it that we both appreciate. But we’ve also had to let go of many habits from our land-based lives. Facilitating life on board takes much more time than we imagined. We knew this beforehand, but it’s different when you experience it firsthand. Everything takes longer. You can’t be in a hurry. There’s always something that needs doing, and reaching even the most basic things takes effort.
The supermarket is rarely just around the corner, and everything must be carried back by hand. Water needs to be made or sourced from a reliable tap. And sometimes, those practical demands can feel exhausting. But over time, we’ve learned to move at a slower pace, to plan ahead, and to take satisfaction in the small rituals that make up daily life.
There’s something deeply mindful about making coffee in a percolator, or cooking with fresh, local ingredients. It brings creativity back into the kitchen, and honestly, we enjoy it much more. Simple meals feel more meaningful. We’ve found joy in less.
The only aspect that really wears us down is the maintenance and the constant flow of urgent boat repairs. We accept that the wind will influence our journey and that it’s beyond our control. But what happens on board, that’s a different story. There is always something that needs fixing. Routine maintenance, small improvements, but especially sudden malfunctions. The more equipment a boat has, the more there is to maintain. Even the work we can plan ahead takes a lot of time, but this is often pushed aside by issues that simply can’t wait.
That unpredictability is a mental challenge. You have no choice, something breaks and it needs attention, now. For Edwin especially, this responsibility weighs heavily on his shoulders. On top of that, solving technical problems usually means tearing the boat apart. Most of the time, thankfully, it leads to a working solution. But when it doesn’t, the frustration can be intense.
The Inner Journey
But beyond the practicalities, something far more important has shifted. Something within us.
Living on a boat, guided by the wind and the weather, demands a great deal of flexibility and resilience. You’re always alert, always aware, especially when it comes to safety and what’s needed to maintain it. At first, this constant state of awareness was draining. We had to develop a new kind of mental stamina, and a shared language around responsibility, anticipation and calm decision-making.
And yet, life at sea changes you. The freedom, the constant presence of nature, living with the elements. It’s an environment that both challenges and embraces you. It makes you stronger, more adaptive, and in some ways, more at peace.
Perhaps the greatest gift of this lifestyle is the space to shape our time more intentionally, at least when circumstances allow. For things like work and writing, we’ve been able to carve out time with relative success. For boat maintenance, unfortunately, not so much. But when we do manage to slow down, something else happens too. Time seems to open up for reflection, for looking inward, and for rediscovering one another in new ways.
We find ourselves asking different questions. What truly matters to us? When do we feel most alive, most grounded? And what do we need to cultivate that feeling more often? These are insights we carry with us, and will continue to carry. Lessons for a lifetime, and perhaps the most meaningful part of this journey.
Connection, Near and Far
When you set off on a journey like this, you’re not just heading towards something new. You’re also leaving people behind. Loved ones, family, dear friends. In the beginning, that felt like one of the hardest parts. It’s one of the reasons we chose to stay relatively close, within reach. And that decision turned out beautifully. Our mums, family members and friends have come to visit us along the way. We may see each other less often, but when we do, we create memories together that feel extra special. They become part of the journey too, and that is truly priceless.
We also share our adventures on social media for our own joy, but it helps us feel connected to the people back home. It’s like a digital thread that ties us to our life before. At the same time, it has become a way to connect with new people. Thanks to our online presence, we’ve found many other families travelling with children. Through these connections, we exchange tips, experiences and often even meet up in person.
In many ways, our social media has become a daily journal. A way to reflect, stay in touch with those who cheer us on from afar, and to form new bonds. Some of those bonds, even if virtual, feel surprisingly deep. There are people we now speak to regularly who feel like old friends, even though we haven’t yet met in real life.
And then there are the real-life encounters. We have met so many incredible people along the way. If you think sailing is something for introverts, you’d be mistaken. It’s one of the most social ways to travel. You seek each other out, and then let each other go again. You help where you can, support one another in small or big ways, and share stories. We’ve made dear friends already, both from boats that left the Netherlands around the same time as us, and from fellow travellers we met along the way.
All ages, all languages, all kinds of boats, different routes and dreams. Yet somehow, there’s always something to talk about, something shared. What a remarkable group of people these liveaboards are.
Rooted in Motion
For both of us, this journey has become a deeply personal one. Early on, we realised we want to keep the door open to one day returning to the Netherlands. But if we’re honest, we both feel a growing pull toward a life in the Mediterranean. The climate, the pace, the people. It suits us. It feels right.
It’s not that we feel like we’re on holiday. Far from it. This is our real life, just lived in a different setting. The background and the view are simply more beautiful. We still haven’t gotten used to it, and perhaps we never will. We’re still amazed, every day, that we get to do this. That our home is in the most stunning places. That we can raise our child with so much space and freedom.
Gratitude, Every Day
We often remind ourselves how special this is. That we chose it. That we worked for it. And that it hasn’t all been easy, but it has absolutely been worth it.
It’s something we still can’t quite believe, and something we are grateful for every single day. We feel incredibly lucky to even have had the opportunity to choose this lifestyle. And truthfully, we wouldn’t change it for the world. One thing we both know for sure is that we’ll never go back to the way things were. This journey has changed us. It continues to shape us, and so do our dreams. We don’t yet know exactly what comes next, or where, but we’re loving the road we’re on. And for now, that’s more than enough.
Written by: Mirjam
Sailing Simon Hendrick 
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