One of my favorite videos is of the kid in the back seat whose dad filmed him while he was still loopy from dental anesthesia. If you’ve never seen it, I highly recommend watching it now.
You’ll thank me later.
In the past five months:
My wife died.
I sold our house.
I gave away everything we owned.
I bought a truck and a mini-camper.
I’ve driven nearly 4000 miles in 5 weeks from Florida to the Rocky Mountains.
I’ve live in the wilderness with my dog. I no longer work. I don’t live in a town or city. I don’t have an apartment or a house. I wake when the sun rises and fall asleep when it gets dark.
I suppose I am retired (without a pension or social security). Or at least, I’m retired for now.
My neighbors have ranged from truckers in rest stops to desperately poor people living in their cars to RVers with tour-bus sized rigs to weekenders tent camping.
I’ve camped at Walmarts, Cracker Barrels, National Forests, BLM land, and State Parks in Florida, Mississippi, Texas, New Mexico and Arizona.
I’ve seen deserts, mountains, forests, coyotes, free range cattle, horses and deer.
I’ve lived in the desert heat where it reached 95 degrees and slept in the mountain wilderness where it dropped to 30 degrees.
I’ve got no running water, no public electricity, no trash service and no sewage.
I’ve met a handful of interesting people. I’ve met some strange people. I’ve met people struggling to make ends meet by living in their vehicles and others who are enjoying a lavish retirement while traveling for fun.
I thought being immersed in nature would help me deal with the loss of my wife. I thought I wanted solitude. I thought it would be good to visit places I’ve always dreamt of seeing like the Rockies, the Grand Canyon and the National Parks.
I thought this would help me figure out what I should do next and how to live without Ellen.
After 5 weeks, I can’t say whether any of this is true.
But I have learned some things.
I’m far better off financially than many people. I haven’t been desperately poor in a long, long time. Even when I was flat broke, I had a place to live, some kinds of transportation, family, friends, clothing, food and usually medical care. Some of the people around me haven’t had any of this. Or if they have, it was a long time ago.
I have family and friends who love me and want the best for me. I can’t tell you how many times people told me about their ex-spouse, their adult child who won’t talk to them or their “friends” who disapprove of their lifestyle. I’ve got a son, a mother and a few close friends who only offer me support, kindness and love.
I’m extremely healthy. Physically, I’m in fantastic condition. Mentally, I’m solid. Emotionally, I’m grieving and out of sorts. But compared to many people around me, I’m young, healthy and vibrant. I can walk, squat, crawl around, run, lift things, drive for long periods and have no aches or pains. I can plan. I can offer and ask for help. I can talk to strangers. Many people around me have physical, mental and emotionally crippling problems that limit their ability to do much besides survive.
I had a wonderful marriage and a lifelong partner. We had love, trust and affection. We were partners in every sense. I’ve met very few others who’ve had that. I am alone and sad. But I’m not bitter. I’m not angry. I’m not depressed.
I am confident and unafraid. I can’t imagine living this solitary, self-reliant lifestyle without this. But I’m seeing others who lack confidence struggle to adjust. They’re trying – but it’s harder for them.
Sometimes it feels like none of this is real. It’s like I’m on vacation in a fugue state. The world is moving around me while I just sit in the center, watching it spin.
At night, I dream about my wife. We have normal conversations. We deal with normal daily issues. We laugh. We eat. We keep each other company. Then I wake up and realize that she’s dead.
That’s real life.
The rest of it – who knows?