People sometimes ask me what it's like to live on a boat. I've been doing it for about ten years and I would probably have a serious problem if or when I ever have to go back on land.
It's a different life in many ways. First is space. If you live on a boat you don't have room for a bunch of furniture you don't need. And you don't have extra rooms that you never use. I converted the bridge into my main living area. I've got a built-in desk/work table that has everything I need. Got my computer and TV and radio and fridge. I installed a propane heater a few years ago and even in the dead of winter, my bridge is the only place in the world I want to be.
I've got a shower and a head and a berth for sleeping. I cook and reheat with a big crock pot, a small crock pot and a grill. I don't have a washer and dryer, so I have to bring my laundry to a very nice cult over on 8th Ave who washes and folds my clothes for, like, $25/month. I have about thirty pairs of socks, thirty pairs of underwear, twenty shirts and maybe ten pairs of shorts. I am rich in clothing.
My fridge is kind of small and my freezer sucks but I can grab a beer without leaving my seat. I don't have cable and I have to pay extra to use my phone as a hotspot so I can get online. I have to fill my water tank once a week and get my holding tank pumped out twice a month.
Every day when I come home I look to see that my boat hasn't sunk because living on the water is always tenuous. At any moment a thru hull could fail or another boat could crash into your swim platform and pop a couple holes in your transom and you will sink like a rock. When a large boat goes by I bounce back and forth but otherwise it's a gentle rocking. When I sleep there's a gentle lapping of waves on the side of my boat.
My marina is a great community and my monthly moorage is very affordable. But Seattle is ever-changing and life as a live-aboard is always tenuous. Maybe now more than ever.