Exactly one year ago I was living on the road. It was my 3rd day of marathon driving cross country from South Florida to the Arizona deserts where I planned to live out of my truck for the rest of my life.
I’d like to say I was excited. I’d like to tell you that I was living out a dream – traveling, rambling, and being independent with not a care in the world.
I was not.
I was frustrated towing my camper. In town driving, parking and turning around was a nightmare. Finding suitable camping spots to sleep had been a dismal failure thus far. Driving was exhausting and uninspiring.
Many times I thought, “What have I done?”
But it was too late.
I had sold my house. I gave away everything all of my possessions except what fit in my truck. I had rehomed my two beloved cats.
I had intentionally left a comfortable life of convenience and ease for this new life of hardship, distress and uncertainty.
Why did I do this?
Because I didn’t know what else to do after my wife died. It was either this or shoot myself in the head.
My best friend sometimes asks me what kept me going.
I got through those days by telling myself, “I’ll kill myself tomorrow. Right now I have something to do.”
At first that something was handling death related tasks. Then it was selling my house. Then it was getting rid of my stuff. Then it was prepping for the road trip. Then it was going on the road.
On the road, it was mapping our routes, finding a place to sleep, scoping out campsites. Once I got settled into a routine it became exercising, feeding myself and Snickers, showering, resupplying and exploring.
Then one day, after several disastrous weeks driving around Arizona and New Mexico from one shitty campsite to another, I gave up.
This wasn’t the life I wanted.
I wanted neighbors. I wanted a safe place to sleep. I wanted running water and dry place to exercise. I wanted to be able to go somewhere without worrying about my dog being attacked by coyotes or getting heat stroke in the car.
I wanted to go home.
Except I had no home.
So I decided I would go back to the only homes I knew. I would return to Florida, Pittsburgh or Raleigh, buy a house and settle down.
It only took me one night of looking at homes on the internet to settle on Raleigh. It was my favorite of the three places and homes were the most affordable.
I called a realtor, made an appointment and started the long journey from California to North Carolina.
If it didn’t work out, I’d shoot myself in the head tomorrow.
It’s been 18 months since my wife died.
For many of those months I was lost. I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know what I should do. I was enveloped in grief that often dropped me to my knees.
I often felt like I had no good reason for living, but I always put off killing myself until tomorrow.
Tomorrow never came.
And today, I no longer feel like that.