10 Things I Thought I Needed (Until I Moved Onto a Boat)
Before I moved onto a sailboat, I used to think I needed a lot of things.
Not just physical stuff, but routines, appearances, certain comforts, certain clothes, a “professional image,” whatever that means. Looking back now, I can laugh at how tightly I held onto those things—even when they weren’t making me happy. Especially when they weren’t making me happy.
When you live on a boat, you learn real quick what matters. Space is limited. Weight matters. There’s no closet full of “just in case” clothes, no pantry packed with 12 kinds of cereal, no room for emotional clutter.
So here’s a little list I made. These are the things I thought I needed, until I realized they were actually keeping me stuck.
1. A giant wardrobe
Back on land, I had bins of clothes “for future occasions,” a pile of shoes I never wore, and jeans I hadn’t fit into since before my kids were born. I told myself I was being prepared. I was really just clinging to a version of me I didn’t even like.
Now? I wear the same few outfits, every day. And guess what? No one cares. Not even me.
2. Full kitchen appliances
Three frying pans. Five spatulas. The Instant Pot I never used. A blender. A toaster. A microwave. I thought these things made a kitchen feel complete.
Living on a boat, I learned how to make amazing meals with one burner, one pan, and the ability to move slow. Cooking became simple. Intentional. I stopped performing in the kitchen and started actually enjoying it.
3. “Nice” towels and bedsheets
Let me tell you what’s more important than Egyptian cotton thread counts—having a dry towel that doesn’t smell like salt after three days in tropical humidity. That, and sheets that don’t mold when the boat gets damp. Boat life changed my relationship with what luxury actually feels like.
Hint: It’s not thread count. It’s freedom.
4. A big fridge
Refrigerators on boats are small. Really small. At first I panicked. Where would I put everything? Then I started buying less, eating fresher, wasting nothing.
Turns out, I never needed a giant fridge. I needed to slow down, cook in the moment, and stop buying 3-for-1 jars of salsa.
5. “Career success”
I spent years trying to be seen, respected, “taken seriously.” I was fired from a car dealership even after being one of their top salespeople. I showed up, outperformed, and still got pushed out—because I didn’t fit their mold ( tech savvy young, hot women, who sold a car from only making facebook post about having a new tire sale), and poked the wrong old bear.
That was the beginning of the end for me.
I realized then that “success,” as it was sold to me, wasn’t my definition. I didn’t want to work my way up in a system built to keep people like me out. I wanted to build something of my own.
6. The need to fit in
I spent so many years shape-shifting—trying to be more polished, more palatable, more professional, less loud, more agreeable. I’d walk into rooms and shrink myself before anyone had the chance to do it for me.
Living on a boat changed that. There’s no room for pretending when you’re salty, sunburned, barefoot, and troubleshooting a leak at midnight. I started to see that my power wasn’t in how well I could blend in. It was in how boldly I could be exactly who I am.
Now, I’m not trying to fit into anyone’s expectations. I’m too busy living my truth.
7. A full calendar
Busy used to make me feel important. Productive. Valuable.
Now I know better. Spaciousness is the new status symbol. Free mornings, sunset swims, journaling with no deadline, following my energy instead of pushing through. That’s what fills me now.
8. A house full of stuff
I used to think a home was made of things: decorations, gadgets, backup batteries, seasonal throw pillows, kitchen drawer chaos. Keeping up with Sally down the street? No thanks.
Now, my home is floating. And I’ve never felt more grounded.
9. The illusion of control
On land, I thought I could plan my way into safety. I tried to organize my life so tightly that nothing could go wrong.
Living on a boat humbled me. Weather changes. Engines fail. Sometimes the tide says nope. I stopped gripping so hard. I let go of needing to know. And somehow, that’s when I actually started trusting myself.
I learn to just chill, because nothing is under control.
10. Everyone’s approval
This one’s still tender. I’ve spent a lot of my life proving myself. Trying to be the good mom, the smart one, the dependable one, the strong one, the survivor.
But you know what? The ocean doesn’t care who approves of you. The wind doesn’t wait for your confidence. You either show up real, or you don’t show up at all.
And slowly, that started to feel like relief.
If you’re reading this and feeling the pull to live with less and feel more… I see you. It doesn’t have to start with a boat. It can start with a question. A drawer you finally clean out. A lie you stop telling yourself. A dream you stop dismissing.
Let it start somewhere.
Because when you begin letting go of the things you thought you needed, you start making room for the life that was waiting for you all along.
Writing the map as I go,
Your girl, Chanty
“Freedom isn’t found in what you own. It’s found in what you’re willing to release.”
