I enjoy writing each morning when I can, but I’m stuck between two worlds right now and don’t know how to write about that. Well, stuck among many worlds.
What’s happening in our government and on our streets is horrifying. Yet, as I’ve been texting with an acquaintance who lives in Washington, D.C. and protests and volunteers in her neighborhood, our conversation about what’s happening there weaves in and out with talk about our dogs. Like it’s all one and the same, which it isn’t. The fact that we’re all still thinking about other things is mind-boggling.
In my own little world, I’m wrapping my head around the very real fact that our lifestyle is about to change pretty much irrevocably. We now have a date for when the tow truck is coming, about a week away. That, too, feels sickening.
The idea of a tow truck pulling away the trailer, for it to sit in a nearby lot until it gets sold, reduces the trailer to what it really is, just a shell of aluminum with some fixtures inside. It’s just a small thing. All from that life we lived, from that nebulous, magical, challenging, extravagant, difficult, always unpredictable lifestyle of adventure, is becoming a finite entity, simply a time in my past when I went certain places. I hiked and took photos and wrote about it. That’s it. The unpredictability, the fluidity of it will be gone. It will move from mystery to measurable, just like that.
Now, I have thought (and drafted) gobs about this predicament in my heart, but what it boils down to is that I needed to get off the road, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to get off the road. I needed to because I need consistent healthcare, and because I’m burned out on the people in campgrounds and on the constant alertness I’ve ended up with even while boondocking.
But just because you no longer can do something doesn’t mean you no longer want to.
What’s funny is that other fulltiming friends have responded to the news that we’re getting off the road not with derision but with congratulations. Compared to them, we’ve been traveling with a more intense schedule and without a home base for longer than pretty much anyone they know. They say, “I can’t believe you made it this far” and “It’s about time.” So why don’t I agree with them, I who made this decision?
An actual way I’m stuck between worlds is the fact that I can’t get in to see a neurologist here to treat my sleep disorder. My Houston neurologist has sent transfer-of-care paperwork to the clinic here in Madison, but the clinic has a long waiting period, and I haven’t even gotten an appointment yet. Meanwhile, I’m no longer a patient with the Houston guy, so I can’t get meds from him, and I can’t get meds from the new place. I call one doc or another nearly every day to figure out how to solve this, as my meds dwindle. Another measurement I don’t want to know.
Not all is dire. We’ve been spending time with friends here, which is wonderful. And by some miracle I believe the one working washer at the laundry room in this campground might live long enough for me to do two last loads of laundry, with my remaining quarters and two last travel sheets of detergent. Now that is a measurement I would welcome!
This image is from me recently reading aloud a children’s book on video to help out a teacher. In this moment in the book, the protagonist shucks off her problems and reveals her true self, which is a better version of who she used to be. I’m working on that.
You may not feel the same about your “decision” as fellow travelers who are congratulating you, because circumstances forced the decision onto you before it had fully evolved into a choice. You may realize someday that if you’d waited long enough for it to be a choice, it might have been more rushed and difficult in the execution.
Losing the airstream after all your years together is a kind of death. Have a celebration of life for your friend that you’ve shared so many memories with. Perhaps when your life has settled back down and is stable again, you can consider a little camper, a teardrop or a van. It can be your grandchild, to bring back old memories and share new ones, but that doesn’t need full time 24/7/365 care. ❤️
Unfortunately, getting off the road *was* rushed and difficult, in a bunch of ways. I declared it right before insurance said their thing, which further complicated it with a deadline. But, what’s done is done.
I think my recent posts of photos to frame and lists of things I’ll miss are my celebration. Nice way of putting it!
Yes, I’m certainly never saying never to what’s in our future. Maybe a mobile home in South Texas that’s our winter retreat. 🦜🌴☀️
I think the real congratulations have to do with the fact that you lived a lifestyle for 5 years that only a handful of people ever get to experience. That’s an adventure many of us crave! (At least in our minds, though after reading your blog, I can admit that a lot of it is overly romanticized.)
We’ve got a washer and dryer here if you ever get desperate!
Maybe I’ll feel more like a rock star in adventuring after this transition. Thanks for the washer offer – that would be pretty funny if I showed up on your doorstep with bags of dirty laundry. Hi, Tara! We met once, remember?
You’ll be doing that shucking shortly, never fear. Transition is hard, and you’re grieving the loss of something you loved. Doors close behind us but that only means we’re going somewhere else.
And hey, you have some pretty fabulous memories to take with you. Weep when the Airstream is towed away, I know I would. But try to embrace this new chapter in your life. Mark always makes Wisconsin sound fabulous, and if all else fails? Remember, you’ll never be far from cheese.
😉
I will consider cheese as being dangled in front of me on a stick, lol! Great image. Thanks for the encouragement.
When we sold the horse trailer I was so sad, even though the idea of it and towing and parking it stressed the hell out of me, because it was the final end of all the plans and dreams we had for Milo. When an object is intimately tied in with your lifestyle and future plans moving on from it is a very concrete and difficult farewell. Big hugs for a week from now!
I’m not surprised that you are still just living your lives with all the…well I don’t know what to call what’s going on over there frankly, if I ever want to be allowed to cross the border again that is, but your brain can’t be on high alert all the time, it needs downtime. Speaking of downtime and revealing your true self, I watched Kpop Demon Hunters the other night on Netflix and it is overtly about not hiding your true self and trusting your friends to love the real you. Like to the point where I’m surprised that certain segments of the political right aren’t having public conniptions over it. So if you feel like a fun ‘coming out’ story with a predictable plot, catchy music, incredibly cute cartoon boys and a cuddly tiger and 3-eyed magpie then I highly highly recommend. Man if I was 12 I’d have posters of Jiru all over my room, what a dreamboat 🫠
That’s a great way of putting this as you described selling the float. Very concrete. (And, I love that word.) I’m sorry I wasn’t a better support when Milo died.
Your K-pop Demon Hunters sounds enough to turn me off of TV! Sorry, that’s not my idea of relaxation in the slightest. I have been rewatching and rereading Pride and Prejudice though!
“The fact that we’re all still thinking about other things is mind-boggling.” That’s it exactly. It feel like we’re collectively underreacting to what’s happening.
I haven’t read your travel posts, but I’m so impressed that you were on the road for five years! I don’t think that getting off the road diminishes in any way what you’ve done. It’s so cool.
Thanks for the support! As far as this country and our reactions, so many people are fighting back, but they can’t do it 24/7. Those of us not fighting back will be forced to, I’m thinking, one way or another. Right now is such a weird time.
Thank you for sharing with us what you are going through, your struggles, your joys. You have an amazing support system of people.