We're baaaack! Oh wait, we're leaaaving! First, let me apologize for not writing while we were away. It was a combination of things: technology that would not allow us to pair our images with the blog and, the bigger issue, I wanted to try living daily in the 'I want to" not the "I should." Although that was new territory and a new way of being for my very structured, high functioning and productive life, I regret not sharing the road, verbally, with you. I decided that on the upcoming trip, I do want to write because I love writing, because it helps to remember what happened and it keeps us more connected. Deal?
We returned from our epic 7 months US road trip in the beginning of November and immediately went into the world of Adultism, capitalism , busyness and to do lists that grew exponentially. Man, it was a fast and ruthless re-entry.
How did that happen?
On the road, I welcomed the daily not knowing where we were going, what we'd see, who we'd meet or where we'd sleep. I was rarely bored or lonely. We just had to open the RV's doors and we'd be in breath-taking nature, meet new people who wanted to see our van and learn about our life, and encountered folks who ogled about Kobi, our globe trotting, leash wearing cat. People invited us to stay with them, fed us and it was easy to make friends during these honeymoon-like encounters. At home, we saw all the projects that needed attention: the yard, the car, the stove, the yearly registration, the refi, the taxes and so on. It's not that there weren't some things that had to be attended to on the road, but in an 8x21 ft home, there's just less stuff that breaks or that you "need."
At home, I started feeling lonely. We're still in a pandemic, so interactions are limited. In my house, I felt, at times, that I am in a beautiful cage. I was no longer living in the sunsets, fishing in the river, gathering my mushrooms. It's not that those things were not possible but between the "have tos", the effort to go somewhere in order to see or do any of these and the inclement weather, well, it's not even remotely close to what we had. Also, people in houses have jobs, a life and they aren't coming over from 20 feet away to go clamming or hike or cook together. They will come next Thursday at 6pm. Not the same.
The other interesting thing were family and friends' feelings about our travels. Many thought that it was good that we'd had that one epic adventure but assumed we were done, that it was a once in a lifetime trip, that now we were ready to return to work and join the rest of the responsible grown ups. Most didn't even ask about our trip except for "how was it?" Or what was the one place you loved the most? No one asked to see photos of the most beautiful, diverse, jaw dropping places and adventures we'd had. I think that we had internalized some of these expectations and felt a little ashamed or embarrassed to tell that we were choosing to live very simply and see if we could retire right now. We are unsure if we could live on a very small budget, but we'd like to try. It's harder at home. It's so easy to press a button on Amazon and buy, buy buy. There's no place for stuff in the RV, so we realized how much we could do without while on the road. We were never the kind of gals who needed new clothes, make up, new cars or phones, and we weren't afraid to rent out our fully furnished house to strangers. Why not
have others pay our mortgage and travel expenses?
At home, I started realizing how much I loved being on the road: learning how to fix the RV, build stuff, use my body climbing and going through slot canyons, foraging for food and chasing murals in towns like Marfa, TX; Sitting in a free hot spring while watching Dall sheep and getting to know folks whom I wouldn't have met unless I lived the Van life. Plus visiting friends in different states to which I would probably never would have flown was a huge bonus. I loved just being present.
The hardest thing about wanting to go on the road again is learning to deal with the disappointments from people who thought we would stay home for good. I had no idea when we starting traveling that I would have two seemingly opposing needs: the need for community and roots and the deep need to travel in the
RV. How do I combine these to create a life that nurtures both? Who would be willing to stick around with this kind of a relationship? Could we travel for 3 months, stay home for 3 months and repeat? Would they feel that they could count on us to help if they needed, even if we weren't there physically? Would they just give up on us being close? Is the price if we
go too high? Is the price if we stay higher?
Then there is purpose. We are people who want to contribute while we're on this planet. How can we do that from the road? Should we stop along the way to help at farms, communities, by writing inspiring blogs about following your dreams, how to create the life you want, how to conquer your fears, how to live fully? Is that enough while there's a global climate crisis, while racism and capitalism has us all in ugly clutches? Do we dare to live as if this is our last day? Do we consciously practice being grateful ( I am so much more appreciative of showers, that's for sure!)
We're leaving at the end of this month, heading to celebrate the New Year with other Van-life loving GLBTQ folx in Florida. Then, we will be heading to Arizona for a meet-up of Nomadic lesbians in the desert where the sky and stars extend forever and the fire illuminates storytellers in the night. That's where in January of 2020, we learned how to poop and pee while conserving precious water. If you can't physically join us, would you like me to tell you the story as it unfolds?
