San Diego Union-Tribune (Sunday)
WHEN SAILING AWAY IS THE DESTINATION
Most of us humans on Earth know, after the last two years, that we don’t always get enough warning of what’s coming next in life. Sometimes we make choices that seem to be simply one of many smart options, and turn out to be incredibly serendipitous. That is what happened to us, when we made the choice to design a fully online work life for both of us, and live a traveling life.
We already owned a sailboat that we’d lived on previously, so when we sold our house in 2019, the process of moving back aboard was fairly easy. Of course, there were a million small decisions to be made, from what to do with photo albums (digitize them and store them in the cloud) to how to deal with our fully stocked woodworking shop (give all the power tools to a friend who was moving from a boat to a house and garage).
The plan was to leave San Diego, sailing north, on March 1, 2020. Needless to say, that didn’t happen, but luckily both of us were already working 100 percent online (Russel teaching screenwriting and Jennifer editing books). We were warned by a knowledgeable friend that it was dangerous to attend our usual writing conference in February 2020, but we laughed it off, thinking the novel coronavirus was simply something like the flu. Luckily, no one got
sick, and by late March, everything in the book business (and most all businesses) was going virtual.
We easily endured the initial shutdown on the boat, working by day (with some long walks on empty streets thrown in for sanity and health) and binge-watching movies and TV series after dark. Our dry provisions were stocked up pretty well, but obviously a 35-foot sailboat isn’t an ideal spot for storing large quantities of toilet paper. To do those bigger shopping trips, we had to rent a car, as we had already sold that four-wheeled possession.
We eventually left San Diego on June 1, 2020, but other than not being able to say goodbye in person to too many people before we left, the shutdown wasn’t a huge hardship for us.
Once we untied and sailed north, our only requirement for this lifestyle of being “cybernetic nomads” was to stay within the confines of our phone carrier’s cellular coverage along the coast of California. We have a separate 5G Wi-fi hotspot, which combined with our two cell phones gives us 100 gigabytes of “freedom.” So far that’s allowed us to use our laptops to teach classes, and even participate on the occasional Zoom meeting, and generally stay in touch. All this helps create the illusion of being in control of our life. It’s really just trading a rut for a grid — but so far the exchange has worked well.
Speaking of grids, we are very capable of living off the power grid, with two big solar panels that power everything on the boat, a diesel heater for cold mornings in Northern California, and a water maker that turns saltwater into drinking water at the rate of 8 gallons an hour. We could catch fish, but so far, we don’t — luckily, every seaside town has a fresh fish market, and we feel good about supporting small businesses and the local farmers who provide our fresh fruits and vegetables.
The trade-off for this movable feast of a life is a lack of closet space — so we donated our blazers, suits and dress shoes, keeping one suit and a few “dress up lady” items which mostly hang in waterproof bags in our crowded lockers, patiently awaiting our infrequent re-entries to the more voguish world.
People ask how we get along so well together in such a small space, and of course that takes effort. But since both of our jobs involve a lot of imagination, we can be in tight quarters and at the same time be thousands of miles apart. The really great thing is we like being together and still make each other laugh — thank goodness for a shared sense of humor — and we both love our simple little floating home.