Just recently (the beginning of July) I moved into a motorhome. For several months I used it like a spare room at a friend’s house- using their bathroom, and often eating meals with them. Two weeks ago I moved to a rented spot, so that I could plug in all of the things, and live in it like a tiny house.
It’s really a rubber meets road situation. Some of it feels a bit like culture shock (which is now called culture stress by many, but I like the word shock better because it includes that sense of disorientation that’s present in the struggle to accept a foreign environment). I always feel a little bit damp, and I worry constantly about the integrity of my plywood structure. I have a heater, but I’m tentative in using it, because I’m unsure how the cost of heating will accumulate. The towel I use after my shower never fully dries, and if my clothes get wet (from rain) there are few places to hang them. I hate the smell of propane, so I only turn it on to shower, do dishes, or cook on my stove…
Many things function well. Morning coffee; my fridge, which is just the right size; a movie in the evening; visiting nearby friends; laundry divided between friends, and the laundry mat; the occasional luxurious shower at a friend’s; my own shower when I can brace myself to undress in the cold; the kitty, which makes great company, and keeps me from being too selfish.
But also, there are very real problems presenting themselves in the form of a leaky toilet, and warped (one constantly wet) walls. I’ve had several very stressful incidents involving the rain, one that destroyed my awning, and banged me up in the process; one that had me frantically running around in the morning darkness with a headlamp, getting soaked. Currently I do not know how bad (or mild) the damage is, or if I will be able to afford to fix it, and because of the minor stresses of cold and wet, I’m tempted to just give up. I’m tempted to hope for the worst.
Though I’m struggling in lots of other ways, I also see the opportunity for growth. For the first time the real possibility that I might fail is not so horrible. It’s just another piece of learning. I feel really good about taking a risk, and if I did give up now, I’m sure I would miss great adventure.
Just now, a warm light is fading outside, and although I can feel the chill growing, I can also hear the cat snoring, and I can sit here typing away to you from my four wheeled house.
Here’s to adventure, and here’s to remembering this perspective in the 5am hour when I get up for work.