There might be something that we missed. But, looking back,
I can’t think of an angle that Shirli and I didn’t study when we began laying
our plans to spend our retirement years just rambling. We even considered
camp-hosting but decided that would become just another noose keeping us tied.
We bought two pull-behind campers. A small vintage one and a
25’ Dutchmen with a slide-out. We used the little vintage camper quite a bit.
The Dutchmen? I pulled it once to bring it home from the dealership. It just
sat there hogging space in our yard. We bought three tents. The first one on
the smaller size. Two big ones that we enjoyed a lot. I still have the smaller
one. I gave away the two big ones.
I can still hear Shirli’s voice when we were planning
camping trips … “We’re going camping. It’s the greatest thing ever!” Shirli
loved to camp.
Somewhere along the way Shirli stumbled upon Bob Wells. I
think of him as the Van Dweller Guru. It was through watching his videos that
we discovered there is a huge sub-culture of really good people living full-time
in vans, RV’s, and other vehicles. Some are doing it because they got fed up
with the hamster wheel imposed by the rat-race. Some are doing it because
living in a vehicle became their only means of not being homeless. Others have
other personal reasons.
We sold the original Fred a few years ago … a gas hungry ’93
Chevy G-20 with a high top. We got our money back out of it but we both felt
like we gave up something of ourselves. We kept looking at vans and talking
about getting another one. We went back to camping out of that little Corolla
and had that trick down pat. In fact, before Shirli’s pancreatic cancer diagnosis
and prognosis, we were readying to pull out on a LONG extended camping tour
with no certain return date.
Two months ago, I realized that my personal health was in
jeopardy. My physical health was breaking down. My headspace was messed up and
growing worse. Too much stress. Not that I didn’t have enough of my own to deal
with after Shirli died but a lot of unwanted responsibilities had been
leveraged upon me. A lot came crashing in on me all of a sudden. Realizations. One
of the realizations is that I was beginning to feel “old” inside. I was losing
the kid in me. I turned 69 in March. None of us can help aging. But none of us
have to grow old inside.
Back before Spring sprang, I had begun to think about
finding a small van to trick out. It had to be the right one though. And this little
2021 Transit Connect? It had to be a God thing the way it came about. The first
thing I did when I drove it home was to put that Fred name plate on the front
bumper. The name is special. Shirli wrote a piece for this blog about the name.
I’ve made three short trips in Fred over the past month.
Partly to keep from sitting here listening to the clock tick. Partly to decompress
and absorb the healing that comes from the sights and sounds of nature. Partly
to study on what I honestly “need” to solo weeks on end in such a small living
space. Cubic inches matter. Every trip is fruitful where these matters are
concerned. Study long. Build once.
I’m living the dream that Shirli and I had. Partly because
it’s the best way that I can possibly honor her memory. But this isn’t just our
dream. It’s also my dream. I’ve got to do this for me as much as I’ve got to do
it for us. If I was doing this just to honor Shirli’s memory, I’d be stuck in
the past. The past can easily become a heavy ball and chain. I refuse to wear a
ball and chain. There’s life to be lived.
