My boyfriend and I just started sleeping in separate beds. It’s not because we’re fighting or sick of each other; it’s because our bed in the sailboat in which we live is just a little bit bigger than a twin bed.
It’s been hot lately, and I can’t handle being shoved against the hull of the boat, with cabinetry above my head. It feels a little too claustrophobic—there’s not enough air flow, and it’s too cramped. In the heat, the space feels heavy and still, as if a lone mosquito were buzzing around my face and ears.
So we split up to cool off and sleep better at night. One of us sleeps in the real bed, and one sleeps on a couch in the living area of the sailboat, which measures about 12 feet across. I love being out in the living room with the companionway open and the portholes cracked, feeling the cool salty air wash over my face.
The sleeping situation has been mostly OK so far, except for when Tom gets up in the night to use the bathroom and turns on the blaring overhead bulb, waking me up. Or when he wants to go to sleep at 9:30 p.m., and I make a little too much noise crashing around, looking for a headlamp so I can read a book.
These are just some of the hazards one encounters when trying to live in a very small space with one’s significant other.
We’ve lived in a sailboat together for a year and a half now—a space that’s no bigger than 150 square feet. The sailboat is 41 feet long with a small galley and a dining area, a salon (living room), a little bathroom and a little bedroom. We do have the outdoor decks, but without a shade structure, it’s hard to sit out there for very long.
Living in a sailboat has its pluses and minuses. The pluses are that we really like being near each other. I love cooking while Tom is puttering around on the boat, doing projects or playing guitar. We can chat at any time or read quietly together on opposite couches in the salon. He knows when to be quiet when I’m writing or when I first wake up; I know when not to talk when he’s doing intricate measurements. It works because we have a sense of each other’s moods and space.
On occasion I’ll petsit in a “real” house, and he will come join me; in these non-sailboat houses, we don’t like how big they are, how far apart we are. In a house, when I cook, we’re more than 10 feet apart, sometimes in different rooms. We have a hard time talking. We miss being in each other’s space. Houses have become so large now that I lead a tiny life.
A minus of living in a tiny space together is that Tom is a neat freak, and I am a recovering slob. Food flails around the kitchen when I cook. The area underneath the stove should be flagged as a bio-hazard. But I try. With Tom’s encouragement, I’ve gotten a lot better, but still, I can tell when we’re not quite on the same page.
I think it’s important to have time apart when living together in such a small space. I frequently travel to my hometown of Portland to spend time with my friends and family. Some evenings, I make plans to have happy hour with friends. The maxim “Absence makes the heart grow fonder” really works in our case. When you live in such a small space, you’re near each other all the time, so it’s nice to have a little alone time so you can really appreciate each other later on.
Living in a small space like this isn’t for everyone. I recently overhead a woman in a gym locker room talking to another woman about how she wanted separate wings in her house for her and her husband. They’d schedule time to see each other, but he’d have to knock if he wanted to come visit at other times. That sounds like a couple who wouldn’t get along on a sailboat.
The sailboat lays everything out in the open. The bones of our relationship are there to stare at. There’s nowhere to hide if we squabble. There’s no man cave, no she shed. We don’t have respective quiet zones when we need to focus or relax alone. When we do have a moment of not getting along, I retreat to another small room on the boat and read for a while. And we always end up talking about it, hashing things out. We have to be getting along if we’re living in a 150-square-foot space.
I’m glad we’re going through this now instead of while we’re out at sea. Better to experience the pluses and minuses of living together on a sailboat before we’re stuck together on a one-month crossing to the South Pacific or a weeklong journey down to Mexico. Because when you’re sailing 24-7 to get somewhere, lack of sleep can shorten tempers, making people moody. Both metaphorically and literally, it’s better to have a strong foundation when things get a little rough at sea.
I am happy to say that I think we’re doing fine. I’m glad I’m becoming a cleaner, neater person. I’m glad that we can sleep in separate beds without one person getting upset or needy. And I’m glad that when the nights get cold and the rain starts tapping the roof of the boat, we’ll cozy up together once again.
Kristin Hanes is a writer and journalist who lives on a sailboat in the San Francisco Bay. You can check out her blog at www.thewaywardhome.com.
