The Reality of Cruising as a Family
My mind was full of pictures stitched together from dreams and confirmed by the perfect little squares other cruising families share on Instagram. In my head, the boys sat quietly at the table, working diligently on math problems, chatting about whatever book they’d just devoured, all while the boat hummed beneath us. I imagined brothers growing even closer, Adam and I finding a deeper connection, and all of us settling naturally into a slower, simpler rhythm.
But when you’re planning something this big, you work so hard and stay so laser-focused on making the dream happen that your mind can’t help idealizing how it will feel once you get there. Why else would anyone pour so much time, money, heart, and energy into a trip like this, only to arrive and find that life is still… life? Still messy. Still complicated. Still requiring effort. Sometimes even more effort.
The point of this post isn’t to complain. It’s to offer a little transparency. For other families dreaming of cruising, or anyone who sees the curated snapshots online and assumes it all magically unfolds like a postcard.
When we told the boys about this adventure a year ago, we talked about the destination. The Bahamas. The sugar-sand beaches. The friends they’d meet. The snorkeling, the freedom, the fun. We talked about the highs. I don’t think we ever once talked about the lows. But the truth is: before we ever touch Bahamian water, there’s a very long journey to get there. In our case, a months-long trek down the Eastern Seaboard. The boys have cruised in summers, sure, but always in bite-sized pieces. Half-day hops here. One day passages there. Easy wins. This is different.
This trip down the coast is both thrilling and, at times, unbelievably dull. There are great moments. New places to explore, little towns to stretch our legs in, sunsets that stop us in our tracks, wildlife that is awe inspiring. But a lot of it is early alarm clocks, steady miles, and the same view for hours. It’s reminding the boys (again and again) to stay on task with schoolwork and not sneak into another browser tab. It’s the never ending screen time negotiations and reevaluating what we’re willing to allow. It’s roughhousing in tight quarters and brother battles that—yes—have already ended in one bloody head gash courtesy of a bungee cord and some questionable wrestling moves.
It’s also Adam and I learning how to communicate better. When there’s no escape hatch, no errands to run, no separate rooms to disappear into, you have to address your frustrations right when they crop up. You can’t let things simmer. It’s uncomfortable and it’s growth, sometimes at the same time.
And then there’s the loneliness piece. Right now, we’re in a season of living like nomads. No home port. A new view every night. No familiar faces (well thats not fully true, we have met a few fellow cruisers along the way and have become friends, Hi Tonks!!). We’ve always tried to be “anti-phone” with the kids, but we finally loosened the reins and allowed very limited iPad time so they can text and FaceTime friends back home. A little tether to the world they miss.
But here’s the thing. Even with the hard parts, and maybe because of them, we can feel ourselves slowly becoming the family we imagined in those dream-filled moments before we left. We’re learning how to function as a team in tighter quarters, how to talk through things instead of around them, how to adapt, how to laugh it off, and how to keep going.
The messy moments don’t cancel out the magic. They make the magic. They’re proof that we’re growing into this adventure, not just posing in it.
And day by day, mile by mile, we’re getting closer. Not just to the Bahamas, but to the version of ourselves we hoped we’d find out here.
Until next time ~Lauren
