I had to see the look on someone else’s face to realize how stupid I was being. “Don’t worry,” I said, seeing my friend’s continued scowl as she looked from me to the one exposed tire spinning like a top in the wind, “I do this all the time.” And I did.
The two of us had spent hours gingerly navigating a dirt road in New Mexico trying to find a spot to camp. As the wind-rippled road slowly degraded into bowl-shaped cavities into which the RV sank and popped, our bodies (and my home) were jolted back and forth, then up and down, as if we were trapped in some broken and never-ending amusement park ride.
I had convinced my friends and family that the solo-RV life was for me, and my plans to demonstrate that for the first time were fading. Our left side had dropped suddenly into a hole, leaving us both hanging onto our door handles to stay upright. We climbed out, to find my new RV slanted sideways into the earth, as if it were starting to swallow us. Only one of my tires remained unburied, but dangled a foot above the ground, the rubber still rolling without any gravel to latch onto.
I shrugged to make light of our predicament. “This is how it is when you boondock,” I said, as if I were an expert. “I’ve been on worse roads than this.” The truth was, I had been on very bad roads, perhaps not as bad as the one we were on at that moment, but so bad I had no business navigating them alone. Luckily, that day, my friend and I were able to remove some debris and rock our way up and out of the hole, find a way to turn around, then drive back out, with only my sewer line ripped from it’s socket.
This was the moment that I realized I wasn’t really living my RV Life. Sure, I was, in fact, living full-time in my RV, but in my mind I was still trapped in the fantasy of what RV Life would be like. In my mind, navigating scary dirt roads to nowhere was what Nomads did, and so as I did it, I imagined myself as invincible instead of recognizing the real danger I had put myself in.
Before I chose my RV Life, I voraciously consumed every piece of information I could find, turning successful nomads into superheros and imagining myself in their place. But this was an escape; it was a way to dream about a better future where my life, at that moment, vanished and a beautiful life of travel and adventure reigned. But here’s the problem with that: once I got that life, I was still living in the fantasy.
Many people write me and say they wish they could leave their lives and their jobs to become a Nomad, and I say DO IT. Others write me and say they want to do it, but are too scared; to that I say, DON’T BE SCARED. For me, becoming a Nomad has been the most epic and rewarding experience of my life. But, I also provide this caution: there is a fine line between the fear, fantasy and folly of the RV Life and each has the same root cause: not living in the present moment.
Fantasizing about the RV Life is just that: a fantasy. We imagine the beautiful places we’ll see, or the escape, or the purpose, finally, that has eluded us. And, yes, each of these things is possible, but we imagine the RV Life is so different that it’s alien to “normal” life. It’s not. It’s still a regular life, with happiness and disappointment, just like our old lives, and the constant hum of tires on new roads doesn’t make you a new you or take all the pain away.
Fear of the RV life is yet another fantasy. Yes, certainly, there are dangers, but the danger is not more eminent or likely than those dangers you faced in your old life, and those persnickety “what ifs” rob you of a real and beautiful opportunity.
What if I can’t make a living? What if something happens to me? What if I break down, or aliens suck me into their spaceship, or I die alone in my RV and my cat eats my eyeballs? All possible, I guess. But probable? Not really. Will a hatchet murderer find you in the woods? Maybe…but unlikely. Will you be attacked, or robbed, or get into an accident? Possible…but not more so than in our regular, home-bound lives.
When we imagine these scenarios, our minds are playing a fantasy reel, spliced together from our fears from the past or the nightly-news, or horror movies or warnings we were given as children. Does that mean we should pummel fear with a pipe and bury it in a shallow grave behind the house? No, of course not – fear serves an important purpose: danger is real. But, by living in fear, our minds and bodies experience a danger that is not. Imagined danger is a phantom that robs us of real life.
I lived in my head as I planned my RV Life, my mind bubbling with images of adventure, the freedom I’d have from a job I hated, and the hope that people would think I was cool. That fantasy was fine, no harm done, but when I actually rolled away from home, my mind didn’t sync into the reality of my new life; I was still living in an RV fantasy that led me to folly, and the real danger that lurks within. Does that mean we should abandon fantasy and live in a sad, stoic life that doesn’t allow for hope and plans? Absolutely, not. Fantasy leads us to fulfillment and I’m all for it. Without fantasy, I wouldn’t be seeing the country, living as a writer and talking to you now.
Now what about folly? That tire spinning in the air and the petrified look on my old-friend’s face jarred me loose from mine. I had seen videos of solo-women barreling down dirt roads towards campsites and they didn’t seem concerned, so when I did it, I thought concern wasn’t necessary, or more to the point – I buried it because it didn’t jive with the fantasy I had created. I was trapped in the hubris of those videos and of the past, not in the real, and very deep, craters facing me on this dirt road and the countless others down which I was headed.
I realized then that fear, fantasy and folly are all the siblings who huddle together in the part of our brains that operate in the “what-ifs” of the past and the future. Luckily, there is a way to tame all three: mindfulness.
Now, I’m not here on a yoga matt, meditating through this article while burning incense and feeling the vibrations of the earth. Being mindful is a real struggle for me, as I think it is for most of us. I must intentionally plant my feet on the ground every, single day and remind myself that my life is real, and here, and I am actually living my dream. I remind myself to be aware of actual danger, act thoughtfully and be deeply grateful for my RV Life.
Fear, fantasy and folly still hang around, annoyingly, and I’ve told them they can, but they have to ride in the back. They don’t get to sit in the driver’s seat anymore.
And, here’s the good news, at least for me: when my dream of an RV Life became reality, my brain began to slowly shift, and is still shifting, like rocky plates deep beneath the surface slowly sinking into a new spot. A better spot — closer to the real me. I still have fears, but they are more realistic and plague me less. My hubris, too, is waning. I am not as stupid nor as scared as I was when I began; a nice combo.
This moment, right now, has danger, and hope and joy, and the opportunity to live an amazing life. Plant your feet, breath, and live the RV Life if that’s what you want. It’s real, and it’s possible and it’s just what the title promises: A LIFE.
To see my YouTube video, “Are You Scared as a Solo-Female Traveler” click here!
I finally made the leap once a catalyst hit me. To read that story, please, click here!
Thank you for reading! And, let’s help other people discover everything the RV life offers by Sharing, Liking and Subscribing.
Be Happy. Create More. Set Yourself Free .
Robin
CreativityRV
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