Back in 2006 I saw a therapist. I had just quit drinking. I clearly was struggling with depression and anxiety, among other issues.
In time, therapy and sobriety helped me to deal with my problems and become the man I always wanted to be.
One day, after making a lot of progress, I told my therapist that I frequently thought of the worst case scenarios. Even when everything was going OK, I’d think about illness, losing my job, death, nuclear war or whatever I could worry about.
He told me that I had an active mind. He said that I was bored with work and that I had established a comfortable daily routine.
He said, “You must always have a Project. You need something to challenge your mind to work on. Otherwise, your mind will make up bad things to think about.”
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He was right then. He was right years later. He is still right today.
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When we knew Ellen was dying, I wept. I told her I didn’t want to live without her. Holding me in her arms she said,
“Don’t cry baby. You have a lot of life left to live. I want you to live it and be happy”.
I did not want to live without her. I still don’t.
It didn’t matter. A few weeks later she was dead.
An old friend who had lost his wife to cancer long ago ago told me,
“I feel like it’s my responsibility to live the life that my wife couldn’t. It’s my job to be a good father to our children, to enjoy my grandchildren and to experience the life that she didn’t have the opportunity to.”
I liked how that sounded. But we were so different.
He had two little kids to raise. I had a dog and two cats.
He wanted to remarry. I’ve had my one true love.
He had a job and people counting on him. I was unemployed and had just shut down my business.
Even so, I had to take care of my cats, my dog and our son Zack.
One day, I told a friend I would like to leave Florida but would never do so because Zack needed me. He replied,
“I know you love him and your heart is in the right place, but but Zack is a grown man in his mid 30s. He doesn’t need you to take care of him. He’s been taking care of himself for years. Stay in Florida or move away. But don’t delude yourself that Zack needs you there to take care of him.”
This disturbed me a lot. So much so that I asked my mom and Zack about it. They both confirmed it was true.
That made it worse.
If Zack didn’t need me, then what’s the point of my life? To cut the grass, clean the house and take care of my pets? To find a job working for someone or something I didn’t care about? To make more money – for what?
I hadn’t realized until Ellen died that my entire life centered around taking care of her. Long before she was sick, I wanted to make her life easier. I adored her. I cherished her. I loved her.
I worked really hard at jobs I disliked. I pushed through my lack of qualifications, credentials and skills to good money. We moved to be near the kids 3 times. I did everything I could to ensure she’d never be poor again and she’d never have to work again.
I loved doing this for her. It was my mission.
When her health deteriorated my life became more focused on helping her deal with her health issues and comfort.
Now suddenly, nine months after she was diagnosed with lung cancer she was gone.
After 29 years of never being apart, our life was over.
It was related with dreadful memories of her suffering and then dying.
I might as well have died too. I wish I had.
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For a few months, I went through the routines of life.
I crammed my days with activity – cleaning, exercising, volunteering. I gave the pets extra attention and love. I called Zack a lot. His mother would talk to him for hours on end. I tried to fill the gap.
People said to me, “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” They were relieved to hear that I was eating, exercising and talking to people.
But inside, I was dissolving. My life was meaningless – without purpose or direction.
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Some people stepped up. My mom talked to me for hours every morning, My friend Craig would call me every day – sometimes twice a day and talk about anything I wanted to talk about. I’d call another friend Bruce and just sob and sob while he listened patiently.
My friend Steve, a fellow blogger, offered continual words of encouragement.
None of it filled the hole inside of me.
I thought about moving. My house was too big, too empty, too expensive and too difficult to maintain. It s “our house” It was supposed to be the last house we ever bought. We were going to stay there forever.
But I didn’t know where to go.
I looked at real estate in Florida, Pittsburgh.,California and Arizona. Everything had problems – weather, costs, unknowns.
I considered renting in Florida, but dismissed it due to costs and my pets.
I thought about applying for jobs and reached out to my business network. Two offers came through with no hesitation (thank you Bill and Dave, I will never forget your kindness).
But my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t care about the work. I didn’t care about the future. I didn’t care about anything. How could I even interview with that attitude?
The truth was, I’d rather be dead.
Then one day, I thought,
“What if I sold the house and moved into a camper? Maybe I could do that for very little money. I could drive around and visit all the place in the US I always wanted to see like Colorado, the desert, the West, California and the National Parks. If I was offered a job, I could take it because I could relocate instantly. If I found somewhere I loved, I could settle down.”
I had thought about downsizing to an RV before, primarily as a way to retire early on a shoestring budget.
After following mrmoneymustache.com for years I’d somehow made my down the internet rathole to cheaprvliving.com which I read with a mixture of awe and horror.
This guy promoted living in your vehicle on public land as a way to live extremely frugally but free from the bondage of mortgages, taxes and unnecessary spending. He talked about healing in nature and being part of the natural world.
It was kind of appealing and kind of crazy.
My wife wanted no part in that type of life. Frankly, neither did I, not really. Too small. Too much traveling. Too rough. Too frugal. I’m a homebody. I like predictability, consistency, and routine. My idea of roughing it was Motel 6, not living off the grid in my car or a camper.
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After a few months of trying to maintain the charade that I was OK, the idea of living in a camper on public lands started to grow on me.
I spoke to Craig, he said, “You’re crazy. Do all the research you want and think about it as much as you need to, just don’t do anything irreversible right now. I predict you’ll be working in a few months anyway. If you decide to sell the house, you can do it next year.”
I spoke to my mom, she said the same thing.
Wait. Do nothing. You’re emotional and not thinking clearly.
Of course I’m emotional. Of course I’m not thinking rationally. My wife is dead. My reason for living is gone. My life is filled with meaningless activity. I go to sleep with thoughts of my wife suffering, my nightmares are full of her futile medical treatments and pain, I wake up early every morning to the thought “Ellen’s dead”.
If it wasn’t for my pets needing me, I might have killed myself.
My therapist’s words from so many years ago echoed in my head.
You need a Project.
I decided my Project would be investigating how to live on the road.
I’d research campers. I’d talk to a realtor about listing the house. I’d dive deep into low cost living on the road. I wouldn’t make any decisions. I’d simply gather information so I could make a more informed decision later.
But I tend to act quickly once I make a decision.
So it was no surprise that two weeks later, I put the house on the market and ordered my Runaway Venturist Trailer.
I bought a Toyota Tacoma capable of towing a trailer, breaking my vow to never buy a new vehicle again.
I sold my beloved Scion xB, the car I had planned to drive for the rest of my life.
I began the great downsizing project of my life. I found good homes for my two cats. I gave away all of our possessions. I reduced my belongings to fit into the back of a pickup truck.
I had lost my wife. I had lost all meaning in life. Now I given everything else that was left away.
Maybe I had lost my mind.
I still thought about killing myself.
But I had so much to do for the Project, that I decided – not yet.
When I gave away my cats, it broke my heart – not yet.
When I gave away Ellen’s furniture and paintings, I broke down repeatedly. One of the last things she said to me was “Don’t give away all of my stuff”. Then I gave it away anyway – not yet.
Truck shopping sucked. Learning to drive the truck was challenging – not yet.
I showed the house 20 times. Then we sold it – not yet.
I wondered if I had completely lost my mind then realized I did not care – not yet.
There was more to be done on the Project.
At some point along the way, I realized I was all in. There would be no going back.
I’d already lost (or given away) everything we had loved that was part of my life together with Ellen.
I couldn’t do all this then simply give up – not yet.
I would see this through.
Today is my 12th day on the road.
Some things went surprisingly well. Towing the trailer is easy (except for backing up). Sleeping in my tiny camper is remarkably restful.
I’ve driven 3000 miles without major catastrophe.
Snickers has been an ideal travel companion who puts up with long drives, my mood swings, and my outbursts of frustration yet is always ready for a walk, a snack or a good scratching.
I’ve repacked my truck umpteen times and have downsized three times already. I keep giving away more of my “essentials” so I can easily access what I really need.
I’ve wished I was dead a few times since living on the road. I had some really low times that came mostly after traveling far, sleeping poorly and not finding a good campsite for days on end.
Today is my 2nd day in a row camped in a good spot near Douglass in the Arizona desert. Over the past two days I’ve driven zero miles. I rearranged my truck again. I cooked meals instead of eating out of a can. I setup my table, used my kitchen and took a shower. I exercised. I walked the dog. I read. I watched the sunrise and sunset. I sat by the fire and hung out with two other campers.
I miss my wife everyday. I wish she could be here with me. But this is a journey I had to make alone.
Last night, for the first time since my wife died 4 months ago, I didn’t have a headache.
I don’t know if this means anything. But I’m not dead – not yet.
There’s more to this Project that has to get done.