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I find the lure of the sea irresistible. I love the smell of the sea. I love cruising, whether in a sailboat or a powerboat. I don’t get seasick. I’m fascinated by the maps and charts. I love the intricacies of plotting and steering a course.

But I’m definitely a day sailor. Maybe, a weekend afloat. I have to admit it: I enjoy comfort too much to commit to actually living on a boat, either anchored or moored at a dock. And, after a couple of days afloat, my claustrophobia sets in.

A boat is a very finite space, no matter what the size. I can’t simply walk into another room or out the door. Every move takes planning. The galley is always too small. The head is always cramped, even those wonderfully posh ones with a full shower and genuine flush toilets. Storage is limited and usually inconvenient.

I’m not sure that even a yacht worthy of a movie magnate or Arab oil sheikh would work for me full time. Yes, the personal and public spaces are ample. And, of course, there is the crew, always ready with a drink or a meal or a towel or whatever. But the idea that I’m not able to reach land easily would begin to nag at me even on a ridiculously large vessel.

So I sigh and walk the docks and dream of a life at sea–just as long as I don’t have to live it.
#6

—-by Roberta Kent

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