September 18, 2014. That was the day I began an entirely new life. Four years earlier, I hatched a plan to become a nomad photographer. Some parts of the plan had fallen into place exactly as expected. Others, not so much. Nonetheless, here I was, behind the wheel of my newly remodeled 1995 Itasca Sundancer, towing my little car behind, and ready to explore the world! (Or at least the western part of the United States.) One of the elements of my plan was this blog. I would write all about my adventures in real time, taking you, the reader, along on my travels. That was one of the things that didn’t come together exactly as expected. As it turned out, I was too busy living it to write about it. As a result, my blog hasn’t seen much activity in the past few years. I’ve tried to revive it a bit, if only from an aesthetic standpoint. Now, it is time to tell my story. The past seven years have been filled with rich experiences and special people I could never have imagined on that day in September 2014. I hope you will come along with me now, as I tell the tales of my seven year journey as a full-time RV’er. Although I didn’t know it at the time, I was beginning a long journey of finding my way home. As a courtesy, I may use fictitious names for people who don’t want to be specifically identified.

I pull out of Yreka, California in the late afternoon with my two-year-old Labrador, Luna, and everything I’ve decided I will need for full time living in a twenty-nine foot class C motor home. At this point, I’ve given up on the so-called American Dream. I did everything I was supposed to do. I tried for years to stay in an intolerable marriage. When it finally ended, I moved and bought a house close to where I worked and where my kids went to school. I bought less house than I qualified for, made a large down payment, and took out a conventional thirty-year mortgage. I didn’t get sucked into adjustable rates or second mortgages. I put money away for retirement out of every paycheck. It was all supposed to result in a secure life when I got older. Then came the crash of 2008. My house is now worth less than a third of what I paid for it and less than half of what I owe on it. My retirement savings is half of what it was a year earlier. The bank refuses to negotiate on the mortgage other than offering me a longer loan, meaning I will owe even more for even longer. My career is under threat of budget cuts and early retirement incentives are offered in an effort to avoid layoffs. My position is seen as expendable and easy to outsource. I dread going to work every day and dream of spending my time as a nature photographer. I take the golden handshake. This is my dream now. I will do what I long to do instead of what society thinks I should. I had planned to sell the house and use the proceeds to finance my travel. That is not to be, but my obsession with photography is beginning to pay off. I am experiencing some success selling prints of my photographs online. Between that and my small pension, I’ve crafted a rough budget. I figure if I live frugally and move slowly, taking advantage of weekly and monthly rates at RV parks, I can survive.

All my debt is paid off except for the mortgage. After consulting with two different real estate agents, it becomes clear that I can not sell the house for even what I owe on it. I research short sales versus foreclosure and determine that a short sale is a huge hassle, just as bad on my credit score, with the added inconvenience of also having to show the house. As much as it goes against my sense of responsibility, I decide it is best to let the bank foreclose. I offer my possessions to my children, if they want any. They want almost none. My son is starting his first year of college and living in a dorm. My daughter is experiencing her own sojourn in the Bay Area. Neither of them want or need more stuff. I place ads on Facebook and Craigslist to sell furniture, antiques, and other valuables. They go for a fraction of what they are worth. I hold two yard sales and haggle with people over two-dollar items. If you ever decide to get rid of your stuff, I can assure you, nobody wants it. Finally, I’m done with all of it and it feels like a huge relief to have everything I own with me inside an eight foot by twenty-nine foot space. It’s an odd juxtaposition–my small world inside the motorhome vs. the seemingly infinite road ahead. It is at once heartbreaking and invigorating. I’m doing what I want and going where I want, even if I don’t yet know exactly what or where that is.

At one of my yard sales I met a woman who asked why I was selling all my stuff. When I told her I was going on the road to live in my motor home, she nearly broke down in tears. She told me that she and her husband had the same dream but once he finally retired he was too sick to travel. He eventually died of cancer and they never got to travel. Now she felt too old and alone to even try. She told me I should go for it while I still can. Her story reassures me about my choice. Circumstances may have conspired to put me in this position, but things could be much worse. After all, I have a source of income and I own an RV. I am going to make the most of it! I try to turn off all the thoughts about the past racing through my head and focus on the future.

Although my friend Chris, who I have been dating for the past seven years is with me, I am driving alone. He is not on board with the full-time traveling lifestyle and has agreed to come along for a while, but not forever. Our relationship survived a misunderstanding where I told him I was going on the road whether he wanted to come or not. He thought it meant I was breaking up with him. We sorted it out and agreed to stay together and see what happens. He will travel with me part of the time and I will travel alone the rest of the time. Because of this arrangement, he is following me in his own vehicle. It’s his escape hatch when traveling gets old. I don’t have an escape hatch. I will just deal with whatever comes my way.

Luna is riding in her crate, tucked under the dining table, since she does not like riding in vehicles. So much for the fantasy of traveling the country with my loyal dog riding shotgun. I know what you’re thinking. A full-time traveler whose dog does not like traveling? Yes, that’s me. I tell myself she will get used to it after a while. I tell myself we both will.