Last year, my husband, Michael, and I bought a sailboat to live on full-time.
At the time, we were preparing to move from our home near Louisville, Kentucky, to Santa Barbara, California, where I’d lived for a few years after college.
As excited as we were to move to a new state, we weren’t prepared for the higher cost of rent, and paying $2,500 a month for a place we wouldn’t even own was a hard pill to swallow for two Midwesterners.
We knew we couldn’t afford to buy a house yet, but still wanted a something we could own outright. I figured there had to be an alternative option.
After some thought, I remembered I had previously met a number of people in Santa Barbara who lived aboard boats, and wondered if that would be feasible for us.
My husband and I had each been on a handful of sailing trips, and as lifelong outdoorspeople, exploring by ocean was appealing, even though we knew almost nothing about the logistics.
Once the idea was planted, we couldn’t imagine doing anything else.
So far, the experience has been full of ups and downs
Rachel Murphy
After deciding to take this leap, we saved up and consumed every book and YouTube channel about sailing. We even fastened a sailing cleat to the arm of an old chair, and we used that to practice our knots.
In September 2025, we bought a 1975 sailboat outright for $40,000 in San Francisco and sailed it down the coast the morning the papers were signed.
Our 43-foot boat is a beautiful work of craftsmanship, featuring a well-preserved wooden interior with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, and a desk. But unfortunately, the boat came with an overwhelming amount of work from the start.
Rachel Murphy
The previous owner had left us quite a mess to clean up, leaving every drawer stuffed with old kitchenware and junk. Plus, it needed work, like replacing the rotting main sheet, updating the navigation systems, and cleaning out a mildewed freshwater tank — things we’ve slowly fixed one at a time.
The first night aboard the boat, we lay in bed and thought to ourselves, “What have we done?” We hung up a horseshoe — a lucky family heirloom that had watched over my dad’s doorway for 20 years — hoping it still had some luck left to lend us.
Although we’ve loved living on a boat so far, we were surprised it wasn’t more affordable than living on land. Our slip fee, about $1,500 a month, at the marina where we’re usually docked, is cheaper than any studio apartment in the area, but we make up the difference in the maintenance that comes with owning a boat from 1975.
There’s a saying among boat owners that BOAT stands for “Bust Out Another Thousand” — something we didn’t learn until we lived aboard. Boat parts aren’t cheap, and anything labeled “marine” comes with a hefty price tag.
Luckily, we’ve been able to save a lot of money by doing the labor ourselves — whether that’s resealing the windows, installing solar, or replacing engine parts. Michael is a great engineer, mechanic, and all-around handy guy, and I’m fair with a wrench.
Rachel Murphy
Despite the financial challenges of living on board, we’ve developed a routine that has made this place feel like home.
Most weekday mornings start with espresso from the machine we squeezed onto our limited counter space. We drink it in the cockpit while the rest of the marina is woken up by the loud roars of sea lions.
After work, we like to bike around town and sometimes host dinner parties that end with watching the sunset behind the hundreds of sailboat masts.
On the weekends, we’ve been able to use the boat to explore the California coast. We pack up on a Friday, sail out to a quiet anchor, and spend a few days hiking, swimming, and watching dolphins from the deck.
A year living aboard has tested us, but it’s also brought us closer
Rachel Murphy
After a year on the boat, we trust ourselves more and more as sailors, and the sweetest part has been watching us blossom as a team.
Even though it can be challenging sharing a space with someone who is never more than 10 feet from you, the greatest adventure has been navigating this new lifestyle and learning curve together.
Sure, we miss having a large floor space to stretch, a kitchen big enough for two, and a toilet that doesn’t smell like rotten seawater.
Some days, our 43 feet feels larger than life, filled with possibilities and adventure, but other times it feels like we’re living in a very expensive closet.
Rachel Murphy
Even on those claustrophobic, leak-dodging, seaweed-scented days, neither one of us would trade it. Not yet, anyway. We’ve been able to explore the Channel Islands, witness incredible coastal wildlife, and learn the skills that come with living on the water: reading the weather, trimming sails, and surfing.
Eventually, we want children, and we can’t picture raising them aboard. But for now, we’re exactly where we want to be.
There’s a narrow window in life when you can uproot everything for something this impractical, and we’re standing right in the middle of it.
