Sometimes Things Just Don't Work Out Like You'd Hoped

 I've lived the better part of the past decade paying attention to how difficult or how easy something I'm doing is. I don't mean in the sense that if it's too hard I quit. I mean more around the outside influences. Of course, I don't always make the best decisions based on those measurements. 

But that doesn't change the fact that when I spend more time fighting against the flow of something than I do actually learning and growing from the process, it's time to take a step back and re-evaluate. This doesn't always mean I will abandon an effort; I may just choose a different path or seek different benefits to derive. Or I may choose to continue to beat my head against the wall because I haven't figured out exactly how to change my path or approach. Ultimately, that all comes down to reassessing what I was hoping to achieve or experience, and figuring out if those results or benefits are worth finding a new way to achieve them.

When I first moved to Austin, literally everything fell into place. My house went under contract and I had a job interview and house rental viewings scheduled when I went to scope the city out. In that short 5-day visit, I had a job offer and found the perfect house to rent. In just over 30 days, I had wrapped up my old life and completely set up my new one 2100 miles away. There was no question in my mind that moving to Austin was the right move. It just so happened that it was also the right time in my life. 

I approached this full-time RVing thing in much the same way. It has been a challenge from day one though. Nothing has come easily; there was no falling into place. From finding my rig to orchestrating a whole new way of living and working, everything has been an uphill climb. I'm by no means afraid of exerting effort. I don't believe the only things worth doing are the ones that come easily. That said, I also don't think that the path or journey should be all uphill. 

The long and short of my current situation is I bought the wrong rig for what I wanted to accomplish. Wrong in setup, wrong in size, and wrong in every other possible way. It would be one thing to tough it out in a rig that wasn't ideal; I could do that without issue. It's entirely another to face problem after problem in a new travel trailer because of shoddy craftsmanship. This rig would be completely fine if I were a summertime, weekender kind of camper. Driving and towing it from place to place, putting on serious mileage, and living in it full-time, however, are another story. 

The repair list is growing and it's been nearly impossible to coordinate with dealerships in my travels for a variety of reasons. The issues are ALL warranty related. From a persistent water leak in the bathroom to a broken window that cannot be locked in place for security or transit to a leaking skylight and rear closet wall, these are issues that shouldn't go unaddressed for as long as they have. The cosmetic things, like repairing and replacing wall boards with water stains can wait, but at some point, they'll need to be fixed so that I stand a chance of selling it. 

Given these issues and the stress increase it all has had on my daily life, I've decided that, for now, I will be staying in Texas. The reality is that I will likely call the Lone Star State my home for years to come, but despite Round Rock feeling like home, I cannot continue to move this trailer from place to place watching it fall apart mile by mile. I'm disappointed and honestly, I feel a bit stuck. But better to be stuck in a place I feel at home, than somewhere out on the road where I don't know a soul. 

So, to recap, I'm done with full-time RV traveling. For now. I'll continue to live in this rig until I get everything fixed and try to sell it this spring. I actually enjoy the more minimalist lifestyle, and being so close to my tribe is a huge bonus. I can't say that I'm done with RVing forever. There are aspects about it that I like and would love to be able to experience more of without the endless headache of a poorly made structure on wheels. I absolutely expect that at some point in the future, I will find the right rig for me, and I will continue the adventure. Until then, I'll be flying to see places and friends, and enjoying as much of this life as I possibly can. 

The Lack of Pressure is Refreshing

 It’s been a whirlwind couple of weeks. Between driving to and from SC, flying to Toronto and back, and starting my trek to TX, I’ve seen and done a lot in a short amount of time, with virtually NO break between. 

By no means am I complaining, as I’ve had a great time. Even with the insane weather delays on my flight into Toronto, I’ve met so many people I wouldn’t have otherwise. The short-lived moments spent with strangers can sometimes be all I need to maintain a positive outlook on the world around me. 

 

The older I get, the less inclined I’ve felt to branch out and interact with people, particularly people I have no relationship with. Living in a travel trailer and towing my home behind me wherever I go has brought me out of that comfortable bubble and introduced me to a world I had only heard about. 

Don’t misunderstand me, I’m still happy to spend most of my time alone, but I don’t waste opportunities to chat away an hour or more with people who are traveling via RV. Hearing about other people’s adventures and mishaps brings another level of investment for my own that I would never have guessed possible. 

In some strange way, these interactions are helping keep my inner cynic at bay and helping me realize that there are more people I can relate to than not. It’s great to have conversations with people I know I will never see again and that don’t want or expect anything from me. I feel like it makes the ability to have a genuine experience together far more possible. 

As much as I’ve lamented about the negative side of my journey thus far, I will say the people I’ve met have helped keep the flame of interest in continuing the adventure I set out on burning. That’s worth far more than nearly anything I can imagine - and it’s absolutely one of the main reasons I wanted to spend a year living in an RV to begin with. 

If you’re like me and new to this adventure, or you’re just considering making the leap into a trip of your own, I think it’s a beneficial idea to consider the impact of crossing paths with people having similar experiences and how it can add to your own. Sure, there is the independence of being able to go where you want on your own time schedule, there’s the experience of living far more simply than you might currently, and the excitement of the unknown, but meeting and talking to others who are in various states of expertise in this lifestyle can be, in my opinion, invaluable. 

I left NC this morning, landed in Knoxville, TN this afternoon and spent the better part of the past 3 hours having interesting and insightful conversations with a number of other RVers - retirees on extended vacations to full-timers to weekend enthusiasts - and I feel as though I’ve discovered a new tier in human interaction that I didn’t know existed. There’s a connection that isn’t overwhelming or weighty, but enjoyable and spontaneous that’s attractive. While I might not be interested in adding friendships to the ones I’ve nurtured over the years, these moments in time are incredibly wonderful to have. Like icing on the cake of human interaction. And I get to determine just how much or how little I want to indulge in. 

Every Bad Day Brings About a Good One

Always be open for those little wins that might just remind you why you are walking the path you chose. I found myself lamenting about spending the past two months without experiencing any kind of positive encounter or event. Tonight, a fellow camper struck up a conversation, helped me sort out a leaky water connection (I was missing a rubber washer), and we chatted for well over an hour about campers, work, his time in the Marines, and of course, our dogs. 

It doesn’t sound like much, but that conversation fanned the flame of my hopes for this trip. While I didn’t have many expectations about traveling like this, I did hope to meet people and hear bits of their stories. Watching Nomadland, I knew that basic human connection with people choosing to live life on the road was something I wanted to experience, if nothing else. 

Being a blip in the life of someone I’ve never met before, and they in mine - there’s just something completely raw and honest about it. There are no pretenses, nothing motivating the conversations other than relating to someone else traveling around and having human experiences. Sharing tips and knowledge gained through experience, and allowing yourself to brave the unknown is surprisingly empowering. 

I’ve never been one to ask for help easily, but since I ventured out on my own, I haven't hesitated. I’m not afraid or embarrassed to admit I’m a novice or that I don’t know how to do something. And the thing is, everyone I’ve met so far has been beyond willing to lend a hand. It's refreshing to be okay with learning and needing the input and assistance of others. It keeps me grounded and in touch with humility, which allows me to grow and evolve. And I'm all for that!

What To Do, Indeed

 It isn’t as though I don’t think I can live on the road and hack this RV life. I kind of like the challenge of towing my home with me and the routine of setting up and tearing down. I enjoy proving things to myself, particularly when it’s reaffirming my strength and character as a person. And so far, I've done well, even in the face of numerous hurdles.

The thing is, despite all the planning and forethought, I find the trip has been an uphill experience. Like all uphill. I haven’t had the freedom or ability to explore or enjoy a new place. There’s always something I have to face head-on and tackle - the truck repairs, the issues with the camper, discovering I’m in a dead zone for cell reception for a week and can’t even use navigation to find service (though it was empowering to rediscover that I can totally still function using road signs and basic directional indicators). The frustration has been mounting, despite all my best efforts to find that fucking silver lining every time I feel myself spiraling down the negativity drain.

Three months into full-time RV living and two months on the road away from Maine, I’m having consistent moments of wondering if this trip is at all what I should be doing - more than I care to admit. I get that life lessons and change usually brings about discomfort and upheaval, but it’s becoming more discouraging than it is empowering. I deliberately set no real expectations around this trip, but I’m still mainly feeling disappointed. The challenges take up more and more of my ‘free’ time (otherwise known as after work and not driving time) so I can’t venture out to see these places I’m visiting. It's like constant goal-setting without the little wins along the way.

Quitting isn’t in my wheelhouse. So much so that I often go well passed the point when I should have cut my losses and accepted the path I was on wasn’t in line with who I was becoming. I stick with things until the bitter end or until I succeed, and even when there are signs I won’t enjoy the feeling of success or accomplishment at the end of the road, I stay the course. I wouldn’t say it’s fear of missing out; more like a deep desire to never be plagued with wondering if I’d just stuck in there or with it for a little longer would things have turned the corner? it's flawed thinking. I know this, but I don't know how to step out of the cycle of it without negative self-talk. 

In addition to the logistical nightmare of this trip, there are other considerations around my mother, my kids, and my work life that complicate my ability to process and make changes. My next stop is Texas and I'm going to spend some time re-evaluating the pros and cons of continuing this journey, and those of ending it. 

We Are All Evolving, Even in the Smallest of Ways

At no other point in my life have I felt the weight and discomfort of how quickly and oddly time is passing than this past year. It's likely that part of that is due to the pandemic and how greatly it impacted our lives. How could that not alter the way we see the world and interact with our daily lives? But beyond the past 2+ years, I've always known that things would appear to speed up as I grew older, I was just unprepared for it to be in such a disjointed and uncomfortable manner. There are times when I don't know want to admit I'm not in a great place. It's then that much of what I experience feels 'off' in some way and I am at a loss as to understand why. Not having that insight has made it beyond challenging to remedy the emotions I am experiencing around even the most benign events. But even when I'm at the top of my game, things still don't feel like they used to. Of course, that's kind of how life goes. 

Sometimes, I find that my expectations and recollections about experiences I've had in the past haven't quite evolved to sync with who I am today. I believe this contributes to those feelings of disconnectedness and disappointment. I’m not sure what I am expecting to feel when I do something new or something I’ve anticipated for some time. When I think back to my younger years, am I remembering accurately, or is my recollection tainted by romanticized perception? I could swear that when I was younger I experienced far more intense joy, excitement, and elation than anything I have felt in the last two decades. 

Not having the same surge of excitement today in similar situations, the knee-jerk reaction is to think that I've lost something. As though I am incapable of achieving that level of satisfaction or enjoyment any longer. The crazy thing is that just isn't true. Preconceived ideas of what an experience should yield in pleasure or enjoyment just increase the odds of being disappointed. Part of the intensity of youthful joy and surprise is there is rarely a basis for comparison. So much was new and exciting that it essentially guaranteed us top-tier reactions.  I can't experience the same feelings now because there is too much familiarity and expectation of a specific effect than true, intense outcomes need to be pure and impactful. I'm also a different person now, and what moved me then doesn't necessarily move me the same today. Perspective is essential. It shouldn't remain fixed, rather it should be fluid. 

Being able to change and grow means there is a pattern of learning and redefinition. I'm not the same person I was even two years ago. Life has presented obstacles, challenges, and opportunities that have reshaped my views and my emotions. How can I possibly expect that even with all those changes, how I see things and what I find value in could ever stay the same? When we change, we have to embrace that our whole selves will change. I've realized that if I want to get more joy and happiness out of any experience these days, I need to discard expectations and allow something new or different to pique my excitement. I may have done something a number of times before, but that doesn't mean there isn't something new to gain from doing it again. I wore corrective lenses and glasses most of my life, but it wouldn't have made sense if I had continued to wear those prescription contact lenses after having corrective eye surgery. So why should I be surprised that my perspective and connection to events and people would need to change as I do?  Isn't evolution the point, after all?

Ambitious? Maybe, but Totally Doable.

 On the road goals:

• Find scenic, fun places to work out
• Meet new people and listen to a little of their story
• Write
• Write more
• Establish a daily writing cadence
• Take time to be in the moment
• Breathe
• Be more open-minded and adventurous
• Relish solitude
• Capture the trip in words
• Read
• Hike
• Read more
• Save money
• Create memories
• Visit friends, old and new
• Practice patience
• Welcome opportunity

There are a number of things I would love to accomplish while on the road. In life, really. This is just a smattering. I've never been one to sit idle. 

Your Rig and Where You Buy It

A little over a year ago, I was considering AirBnBing it around the country with the dogs. I rather liked the idea of a few weeks' stay here and there, getting to discover places I hadn't seen before, along with revisiting places I love. The more I considered it, the more I realized that I would likely not do well without my things. There's something to be said for familiarity and routine. So, the whole full-time RVing possibility came about. Only somewhat ironic, since I had joined an RV club to maintain my Texas residency. 

When it came to deciding on what kind of rig I wanted, I quickly realized there was so much I didn't know. I ended up buying a truck, essentially ruling out a motorhome, and focused on fifth-wheels and travel trailers. I thought I read as many posts on this topic as I needed to and that I was informed. I didn't read enough. Didn't research enough, despite what it felt like at the time. As a result, I am in this with a new rig that is wrought with problems, isn't the ideal setup for me, and I'm dealing with a dealership that stopped valuing me as a customer the moment I signed on the dotted line. 

I spent months researching different models, checking out different sizes in person, weighing the pros and cons of floorplans, and debating whether to buy a new or used rig. I perused numerous dealership websites, and read reviews on many of them, as well as the different brands of campers. I considered what might make the most sense for both my needs and potentially resale should I decide the RV lifestyle isn't for me. Despite 5 months of this, I still ended up in what I'm calling a shit situation.

Only after I purchased my travel trailer did it become clear to me I'd bought from the wrong dealership. I'd bought absolutely the wrong travel trailer. Even more, the wrong type of RV altogether. I don't mean I went to the wrong location and bought the wrong model camper; I mean, I should have done more research on the dealership and this particular camper before signing the finance papers. And it would be fair to say that I wish I had rented each type of RV I was considering to get a real feel for what I'd be most comfortable in. As it is, however, I know I can make the travel trailer/truck combination work, even if it isn't really in the ballpark of my ideal.

My issues lie around the quality (or total lack thereof) of the travel trailer and the total lack of customer service post-purchase. Even if I felt like this setup was conducive to my lifestyle and needs, the fact that I've had several things on it repaired before I ever really used it is disconcerting. It has me wondering exactly what I'll be faced with as I put miles under the tires. All the bumps and turns and driving cause wear and tear, and can do things to the overall frame. I'm going to do my best to tow this thing as gently as I can, though part of me thinks selling it down the road might be the way I go. 

All of that, on top of evasive and lackadaisical customer service, is enough to make me want to give up before I even begin. Numerous phone calls, appointment after appointment and still there are a few things that need to be replaced. I'm only too grateful that most of those are cosmetic and that I can continue living in this camper. The fortunate thing for whoever buys this trailer is that I will have worked out and fixed most of the substantial issues. 

Something I learned early in life (though I didn't embrace it thoroughly until the last decade) is to expect the unexpected. I’ve never really liked that saying. It’s basically like telling someone to never chill out or rest easy. Like there’s all kinds of shit just waiting to mess up your day; all it takes is to let your vigilance slip. It could be ecstatically happy news, but more often than not it’s something that causes you to suddenly sidestep, lose your balance and then try to center yourself again. All while trying to digest what’s shown up at the door of your life. It’s even more frustrating when it comes on the heels of making decisions you thought you were being tactical and informed about. 

I thought I was simplifying my life. Letting go of possessions and a tiring routine to pursue a year of the unknown. Unknown places with new experiences and new people. Time to explore and to think and grow in ways I likely never would if still bound by my old life. I expected there would be hiccups and issues I’d have to work through. Welcomed it even. What I didn’t expect was finding myself unsure of when I would be able to push forward after my first stop. 

My plan was to stay in North Carolina and visit my youngest sister for a month and a half. Time to spend with her, my nephew, and my brother-in-law. Time to explore what NC had to offer. Black Betty (my truck) had other plans. Plans she barely even hinted at in the 8 months we’ve been together. My eyes saw nothing but fun times and serious girl awesomeness as we traveled the country together. Bambalam has been a pain in the ass since day one, but I thought Betty and I would make the most of it and maybe even learn to live with this travel trailer's flaws. And that may well happen, though exactly when and how much traveling we'll get to do together is up in the air. For now, we'll just have to wait and see how things pan out.

The Countdown Begins

 I've been feeling at odds with my life as of late. Or rather my choices in life. Maybe it's all the frustrations that have come about over ridiculous issues with this brand-new camper. Maybe it's the loss of any more fucks to give with my cell carrier dicking me around for almost three weeks. It could be the isolation of living alone AND having Covid. I'd be willing to bet that my emotions of leaving and missing out on precious time with my mother and having not been able to work out for the past six days haven't put me in any better state of mind. 

I suppose I could look at all the hurdles I've recently faced as preparation for the unexpected as a full-time RVer. To a certain point, I'm willing to accept that and try to learn something from it all. Maybe even cultivate a degree of level-headed patience that I don't come by naturally. Like everything else, however, there are limits. 

For the most part, I don't mind my own company. After 50 years of being me, I can't imagine not being comfortable alone. Are there things about myself that I want to change? Where do I begin? Despite the work in progress that I am, I choose to recognize and celebrate the distance I've covered, as well as the growth I've made. I don't want perfection, I want to know that every day I am doing my best to be my most genuine self - even if it's the shit part of who I am. 

This road trip isn't about me proving anything to anyone. I didn't spend months weighing the pros and cons and I wasn't searching for some life-defining event. As disappointing as that might be to some, I just felt like doing something to satisfy my indecision of where to lay down roots. There was no epiphany. I considered being a digital nomad to get my need to see new places satisfied, and the how sort of morphed into RVing based on knowing I like having my things. Sort of boring and lacking in excitement, but that's really how I came to this moment. 

After having my relocation to Austin, TX dulled by the pandemic and then learning my mother had Alzheimer's, I moved back to Maine. While I'm glad that I did, I'm more than ready to leave again. It's a strange crossroads to stand at - I love being so close to most of the people I hold dear yet I want to be anywhere else because it's stifling to be in a place where there are little to no social or romantic opportunities. Wanderlust has always been in my DNA. It isn't that I don't believe I'll ever find a place to sit still, I just know it isn't Maine. I stayed most of my life, but I always wanted to be somewhere else. Like home has yet to be discovered. 

In two weeks, I take the dogs, hook up the problem-plagued money-pit of a camper to the truck with my few belongings and drive south. There are those in my life who are worried. Fearful that traveling alone as a woman is too risky. Concerned because I am a survivor of rape. There is little difference between solo RVing and traveling alone, or even moving across the country and living alone as far as I can see. Shit happens everywhere, at any time of day, under any circumstances. I won't let the what-ifs keep me from experiencing more. There's a healthy amount of apprehension that fosters preparedness, and I've got that covered. Precautions, safety, and contingency plans are an absolute must. Letting fear dictate my life is not. 

I'm looking forward to the next year, the ups and the downs. I have no idea what I learn or how it will shape the ever-evolving person that I am today. But I can't wait to find out and maybe make a few memories along the way.