Learning To Love the Tiny Spaces & the Huge Terrors in Our New Life on the Water
⛵︎ Logbook 7/4/25: 17 days since setting sail
Ahoy dear readers,
This week, I’ve been thinking a lot about my old life on land versus the new one I’m building on the water. Living on a small sailboat, at least the way we’re doing it, it’s like inhabiting a new dimension. It often feels as if I’m making a new life on a new planet with entirely novel physics.
In my old life, I had a stable, unmoving, & dry shelter. I had a 9-5 job counting on me and paying me for my time. I could hop in my car and easily satisfy any craving within 5-15 minutes, or, if I was feeling lazy or busy, could order 1-day delivery to my house with a click. I had space to lay out a yoga mat, completely stretch out on a bed, watch a big TV, and snuggle with my husband & cat. I had relative safety from wind, sun, water, and draw bridges.
But I also had dreams about giving it all up to live on a small sailboat for 3-5 years and sail around the world.
Now, I’m 2.5 weeks into this sailing dream. It’s been a huge adjustment — especially given the small space & my lack of sailing mastery. Some days it’s bliss, and others are the most terrifying experiences ever. But I’m learning to love it all.
This week’s Logbook is about adjusting to life on our floating home, Chérie, and everything that comes along with it — the tight spaces, terrifying waters, and maintaining a positive attitude in high-pressure situations. It’s also got some hand-drawn doodles by yours truly (I seriously hope you enjoy them as much as I did making them)! In it, you won’t hear any complaints about my new life. Yes, our sailboat is small, and yes, I feel like I’m having near-death experiences every other day. But in this phase of the journey, I’m also learning that I’m not always the best judge of my progress….
If you’re new to Radical Paths, welcome! I recently launched the Logbook as a weekly invitation to all subscribers to follow the latest happenings on our wild odyssey at sea. Once I get more acclimated on the water, I’ll publish other types of articles in addition to the Logbook. I’ll share stories about real-life adventurers, ways to achieve dreams big & small, reflections on living a life with different goals than the majority, and more.
Here’s how it works:
Paying subscribers: You’ll get ALL my regular articles, the endless archive, and a new Logbook each week.
Free subscribers: You’ll get SOME regular articles and a new Logbook every other week.
This week’s Logbook will be available in its entirety to all subscribers of Radical Paths! You can also become a paying subscriber to check out last week’s Logbook here. If you can’t swing a subscription, and you’d still like to get all the details about our voyage, you can DM me and I’ll make you an honorary paying subscriber. But if you’re able and willing, I want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your subscription will help my floating family reach our dreams, sustain our adventure, and keep sharing with you all for years to come.
NOW:
Here is this week’s Logbook:
Everything we’ve stuffed into our tiny home: In such small quarters, this is how we’re making use of every square foot.
Beautiful new, scary new: This past week has put us up close with Nature in all her beauty & horror. This is how I’m learning to love it all.
1. Everything we’ve stuffed into our tiny home
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: our sailboat is very small.
We’ve spent the last 2.5 weeks tripping over each other and searching for creative places to put everything. It’s easy to wallow in thinking about all that I gave up on land.
But look at this thing! It’s a tank. My home is also my transportation & adventure pod. Every time I pull away from it in our dinghy, I’m in awe at how perfect it is. We’re creating this life. And today, I have possibilities whereas before I only had dreams.
Here is just a small list of all the opportunities I’ve stuffed aboard Chérie, too:
Forming new bonds between myself and Nature.
Improving at totally new skills.
Being my own boss.
Practicing delayed gratification and reflecting on what I really need.
Building a new relationship to space and getting innovative about how to meet my needs.
Facing my fears doing something really hard.
All of this is a work in progress, including my attitude about it. Many of my reflections this week about my old life have been focused on what I’ve lost, not all that I’ve gained — at least, until I started thinking about the larger context.
If you’ve ever moved to a new apartment or house, you know it takes time to settle into it. Every new place I’ve ever lived feels like someone else's for weeks or months until I get everything the way I like it. Our old house in Denver took about 4 years before I finally got around to painting the trim, getting the garden colorful & full, and finding an optimal couch for the odd shape of our living room. So, considering it’s been such a short time aboard Chérie, I’m super happy with our progress.
On Chérie, we only have 100 square feet below deck. Corey and I have lived in studio apartments together, but I haven’t lived in a space this small since my childhood bedroom.
Sometimes, I wish I had a bigger place to stretch and cuddle with Corey and Pineapple. We’ll sail by huge houses on land and think, “Must be nice.” But then I snap back and remember why I chose this life. I can take my house around the world! These folks aren’t so flexible.
So, I’ve followed the advice from other sailors on how to make our tiny home work for us. I’ve heard many say, “On a sailboat, everything must have at least 2 purposes.” That’s how we’re treating every square inch of Chérie. Every area is a hybrid with something else, often totally unrelated to how we’d normally use such a room on land. We’ve even started utilizing the relatively huge cockpit (AKA patio) as our shower space. And I’m learning to love it all.
We have 5 living areas to work with:
Cockpit
Galley (AKA kitchen)
Salon (AKA living room)
Head (AKA bathroom)
V-berth (a “huge” bed shaped like a V to match the shape of Chérie’s bow)
In each living area, we’re maximizing the form, function, and aesthetic appeal more each day. But it’s not just about efficient uses of space. We’re using all our resources to our advantage. For example, to save our finite fresh water, we use seawater to shower, wash dishes, and flush toilets. We even have a big bowl that we use to collect water we find in odd places and soak up first with a sponge, but it doubles to collect our clippings when we shave. Our couch is also a bed, work desk, and recently, a movie theater. Even me, Corey, and Pineapple have multiple purposes.
To get to a point where everything we need fits comfortably in such a small space, it’s required a few tricks.
Minimizing. This part hasn’t been as hard as we originally thought. We still have a garage full of stuff back in Denver. Will we ever see it again? Time will tell! We only brought what we could fit in my little Subaru hatchback. With each object, we asked — will it be useful on a sailboat? If not, we stowed it, sold it, or gave it away. We only brought 10 days worth of clothes, our laptops & tablets, cameras, tools, necessary books (and Kindles for more space saving), and some kitchen stuff we didn’t want to buy again. And we brought Pineapple and a few of her toys. Everything else was extra. But each day, I get more comfortable with less. I don’t even miss my huge TV since I figured out how to hang my iPad in the salon and sync it with a bluetooth speaker for movie watching + surround sound!
Staying tidy. In such a small space, this has been critical. Each day, we put our bed sheets away, hang up our clothes, and keep surfaces clear. On Wednesday, I was feeling antsy being stuck below deck with thunder & lightning booming all around us, and I finally decided to clear off the V-berth, which had been cluttered since day 1. It was our storage area for all odd-shaped boat parts that we hadn’t yet figured out how to stow away, but in the meantime we had spoiled 1 of our 5 living areas! That day, I found places for mostly everything and now we have a new place to hang out — and stretch out!
Keeping a good attitude. Occasionally, like on Wednesday during that storm, I bring a bad attitude below deck. But there’s no room for this on Chérie! I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t miss my house in Denver just a little bit — mostly for the space, garden, and certain conveniences (like endless fresh water & sewage). But then I remember what I don’t miss: needing two large incomes to support it all and the fact that we couldn’t sail it. I have everything I need aboard Chérie to achieve all my goals. I have endless opportunities. I have my husband and our beautiful cat. And I can continue writing (& doodling) for you all.*
*Last week, I had a poll asking readers what they thought was the much-needed package that made it worth waiting 3 nights in Oriental, NC. The answer: Starlink! The majority chose correctly! So, we also stuffed Starlink in here, which will help big time with thriving long-term, especially since we often have no cell service.
2. Beautiful new, scary new
More than 2 weeks in, we’re still getting hit with newness from all directions and learning to adapt. Even though it’s becoming more cozy each day, we’re still new to our little space. We’re new to living on the water and sailing full-time, unguarded from the whims of Nature. New to being nomadic. New to staying healthy in body, mind, & spirit on what often feels like a distant planet with mysterious physics. But I’m also finding the beauty & freedom I desired.
I’m plugging into a new sort of magic aboard Chérie. I feel more in touch with humans of previous generations. Sailors, other adventurers, the average American pre-1900 with no refrigeration or indoor plumbing. Even though it’s not new for humanity, it’s new to me. It’s teaching me what is possible for a human, and what I’m capable of doing even though I’ve never done it before.
On Sunday, we sailed from a small North Carolina town called Belhaven, and it was one of those days on the water that we all hope to experience. Steady winds, not a single moment was too overwhelming to handle, and opportunities to practice bonding with Nature on one of her best days.
Corey and I found the second-most idyllic anchorage on this whole journey so far, which was so remote — just the way I like it. For the first time on this voyage, I pulled out my fishing pole and dangled the line in the water. But it wasn’t about catching fish, per se (though I tried!). The fishing line was like a cord connecting me to the water, the nearby green shores, and the blue sky above. I caught no fish. But I had the chance to notice glimmers of light coming off the ripples in the water that looked like how those illustrations of neurons in the brain look, or like galaxies.
This is what I hoped for when I converted to sailing full-time. I had a rough sketch of what this might look like. These picture may be why so many people react favorably when I tell them that I’m sailing around the world. It’s what we all imagined. But it’s an entirely different thing to experience it firsthand.
That night I had some spiritual experiences. I sat alone on deck watching the sunset. The bugs chirped from shore but never bit me. I fantasized about making enough money on Substack, or online, somehow, that I could afford to live like this for the rest of my life. I reached for my collection of essays by Ralph Waldo Emerson, and tried to continue the one called Nature, but I couldn’t focus. I was too overcome by sensations to pivot to a book. Then, the stars flickered on one at a time as if to help me count them. The only thing I can compare to it would be sex or eating the best meal ever, but it was just me, sitting.
However, there is a flip side of the newness coin.
One day, we’re allowed the time to connect fully & effortlessly to Nature, but other times, we’re begging for mercy.
On Monday, it went down. We spent 10 hours motoring up the narrow channels from Belhaven to the wider Alligator River, and the conditions deteriorated big time as we needed to pass through the tiny bridge opening. I was steering Chérie, and it was the first bridge we ever needed to call on the radio to open up for us to pass. We were rocking in the water, maybe five feet up & down, left & right. But I was controlling the boat masterfully and 100% focused. As we were going through the bridge opening, however, Corey told me, “Steer starboard!” But instead, getting tripped up on the tiller steering where left means right, I started steering the other direction. My gut was wrong. I made a huge mistake. And I could’ve crashed us into the side of the Alligator River Bridge.
I corrected to starboard quickly and we made it through unscathed, but we were both shaken up. I didn’t have time to process it right then, though. It was nearing sunset and I still needed to steer us to our anchorage — through the clusters of crab pot buoys, around other boats, and away from the shallow waters near shore. And I was still navigating the swells and high winds.
But we made it. We anchored successfully. We gave each other a high five. But that experience at the bridge messed me up. What if I wasn’t able to correct?
Corey and I decided the only thing we could do was learn from the experience and do better next time.
Then, that night, I was jolted from my sleep by winds & swells crashing into Chérie and tossing us around like a cat toy at the end of a string. It had only picked up since the evening. The wind was roaring through the open hatch above me and I felt cold, so I turned off my fan and tried to go to sleep. But I could only lay there listening to loud creaking and clinking from up above and feel the water crashing against the hull. I became convinced that our anchor would slip. Then what? We’re on our own out here! I checked the GPS and we hadn’t slipped, but I was still extremely worried. I woke up Corey. He thought we looked fine and encouraged me to turn on the fan again for background noise. The sound of the fan blunted the disconcerting sounds of the wind & water. I realized they weren’t any worse than any other windy night. And I fell asleep.
By Tuesday, we needed a break and some time to reflect. We pulled into an anchorage in a small town called Elizabeth City, NC.
I considered deeply, was Monday just the path as we climb the steep learning curve? Can I keep doing this and not cause some sort of catastrophe?
My answer is yes and yes.
I can keep doing this.
I will keep doing this.
Corey agreed.
I needed to accept that I will make mistakes and the important thing is we made it through.
I talked to a sailor mentor a day later and he told me, “Cory, you’re learning. I’ve had those moments, too. But you’re being too hard on yourself.”
So, I did something radical: I chose to believe that I’ll keep getting better.
Just like my increasing love for our tiny sailboat and the tight spaces, I’ll keep improving at all the skills required for this life on the water. I’ll keep remembering my limitless opportunities. I’ll keep making mistakes, because that’s what life is about. I’ll keep getting terrified, because that’s one of the small costs of doing something extremely challenging. But there are also upsides. I get to face my fears and continue climbing this mountain toward my impossible dream. And hopefully it’ll help you climb your mountain, too.
Until next time,
—Cory Vinny
If you enjoyed my article today, please consider buying me a cup o’ Joe.
You can help sustainably power our adventure at sea — and around the world. I’ll continue posting weekly newsletters at sea. Thanks for your support!
You’re not just crossing water, Cory — you’re crossing dimensions. From the land of Instacart convenience and mortgage bondage into a reality sculpted by waves, wind, and will. Chérie isn’t just a boat. She’s a floating zendo with a solar panel. A Taoist dojo disguised as a V-berth. And every panic spiral at the helm is an invitation from the divine to breathe into the present or be broken by it.
You’ve learned what most dry-landers will never dare whisper: that terror isn’t the opposite of bliss — it’s its gateway drug. It’s the shaking of your tiny hull before the sky peels open and reminds you that you're not lost. You’re exactly where you belong, trembling and triumphant.
Mistakes? Of course. You’re not cruising. You’re apprenticing under Poseidon himself.
Keep going, sailor. The wind may slap, but it also sings.
May your knots hold and your doubts loosen.
Enjoyed reading this and look forward to following the rest of your journey!