So this past week I took the first step to begin simplifying my life and down-sizing a bit. You learn a lot about yourself when you car shop if you're paying attention (smirk)
My goal was to trade in my SUV, take the cash, and buy used, since all the online guides told me my vehicle was worth decent cash. Lies. All lies. Yes, because it was 0 percent finance, for once in my life I actually had some equity. But when gas is kissing 4.00 a gallon, SUV's aren't the vehicles flying off the lots - everyone is unloading them and taking home little baby cars. And that was my first purchase - a 2007 Mini Cooper S. After my initial let-down on a cash buy, I asked to see the cheapest vehicle on the lot. We never made it there, as a nice pick-up caught my eye, then a plain white van (both over priced in my opinion) and we circled back to the front. There they were, the Mini's. In a neat little row, small, low to the ground and, well, cough, cute as hell. I sidled up to one and whew, it was a stick. Saved! But oh no, there was the cutest one, in British Racing Green Metallic, that was an automatic. And this one sported the lowest price. Hrm. The test drive ensued during which I learned of the awesome gas mileage, the great suspension,high quality craftsmanship, etc. After the gymnastics of finance, managers in and out of the office, and learning about the three for free drive opportunity, I bought it. Now, transferring the contents of an SUV into a Mini is um, a learning opportunity. I recently helped my daughter move and still had some of her things in there. Tools, books, CD's, cloth shopping bags, a comforter set my mom recently recycled to me and a tricycle for my grandson. Hey, I didn't go there to BUY a car, just to see what mine would sell for. First lesson here - I carry around way too much crap in my vehicle. Second lesson - cars are like puppies, RUN AWAY. This cute, responsive, purring little driving machine came with a total cost of ownership that a middling income person like me should never attempt, especially when I'm trying to simplify. Special oil. Premium gas. A history of breakdowns with scarily high costs once the warranty evaporated. One good research online proved to me that I really couldn't afford this car. And I haven't even mentioned the disturbing fact that I, a previously responsible, no ticket driver, apparently have an alter ego lurking inside of me that only expresses itself when sitting in the driver's seat of a small performance vehicle that idles at just the right vibratory purr to make me think I have relatives in the Andretti family or something. What the heck??? Yes, that little car was a hot sexy mess and would get me in trouble probably in more ways than one. So back it went and I retrieved my sedate SUV. Whew.
In the interim, I got credit approval at my credit union, and sat down and actually thought out the criteria that matters for a replacement vehicle . Sexy, exhilarating and sporty did not make that list. Fuel efficiency, ease of repair, tow capability and reliability did make the list. I ended up with a little 2008 Honda Fit with only 20K miles, a bumper to bumper warranty for the next 80K miles, flat tow capable, a vastly lower insurance and monthly payment cost and incredible gas savings. These are all things that will complement the move toward my real life. Third lesson - for heaven's sake don't impulse buy a car. And if you do, TAKE IT BACK. They really don't shoot you when you return it. Not even in the foot or somewhere non-life threatening. Even if you go elsewhere to make your final purchase. Trust me.
Fourth lesson - I am spoiled in ways that I have no idea I am spoiled in. My SUV had auto headlights, heated leather seats, sound system controls on the steering wheel,remote start and other little nifty gadgets. Wow, I miss them. Huh? I wasn't even conscious of the fact that I used them so much. I wasn't really aware that many cars don't include those things. I mean, yes, I was AWARE but never gave it much thought before. I didn't drive a Cayenne or an Escalade, just a Saturn Vue. It met our needs when we lived in the mountains and in remote areas with occasional inclement weather. It hauled a LOT with its fabulous tow package and AWD. The cargo space trucked big dogs in cages, hundreds of pounds of dirt and more hay bales than I ever expected. But no doubt, it was a luxury vehicle and I took that luxury for granted. I'm learning that I take a lot for granted. That is sobering. It makes me wonder how much I really know myself.
When my husband died suddenly, I moved to a very remote area and lived alone for the first time in twenty seven years. I hauled wood, learned to make a fire, ran a chain saw, wrangled a weed eater, drove my first riding lawn mower, and learned a lot about who I was inside. I battled ticks, wasps and field mice. I killed my own snakes when I had to. Got hit by tornadoes. I discovered weather radios, below zero weather and emergency preparations. I had a clear picture, I thought, of what kind of stuff I am made of. Yes, I can rise to the occasion when called to do so. Now that I've had to move back to the city to earn a living and spent nearly a year under the barrage of that mind set, I worry I've lost the person I had become. I feel the fear that followed me around on the farm the first six months hovering again over my shoulder as I work towards this mobile lifestyle. Our culture promotes things getting easier and more comfortable as we age. The fact that everything we could need is within a fifteen minute drive and that we are protected behind a gate with a guard is a siren song to the over fifty crowd. You can be near more stuff to buy while someone else protects your stuff you already own! Adventure is sold as a comfort-wrapped cruise to somewhere else rugged.
Which brings me to culture and aging gracefully. Our culture teaches me that I should start relaxing now, and defines that for me. Why do I feel the need to kick against that cultural imposition? What is driving me to shuck off a stressful but moderately financially beneficial job and throw myself out there to do something completely different without all the 'luxuries' like 401K, insurance and a retirement luncheon? What will my response be to that lack? How will I handle the possibility of at the end of a six month tour with a campground, not having any place to work next? And that's considering I can translate my life experiences into something a campground will find fitting for them in the first place! Thinking ahead to advanced aging, seventy and beyond, how will this lifestyle impact that? While there may be exceptional eighty year olds still driving cross country to Quartzsite that make the news clips, what is the reality going to be? When I am ready to find a partner, will I be more successful on the road than staying put in one place? Will my mobility be a blessing or a problem when taking care of aging parents falls on my shoulders?
The reality is that you just can't plan for everything, because as a friend once told me, the unplanned happens when you're busy making plans. You can only move forward, think, but not too much, and work with what happens. And that dear readers, is aging gracefully.
~Sheket
I'm not a whiner. I hate it. Listening to it especially. But lately I've experienced my own inner whine. It's annoying, rather like that lone mosquito that somehow gets into the room and circles your head like a buzzard lookin' for a roadside snack...drives you nuts! I usually suck it up when I'm feeling whiny. Give myself a good talkin' to on the inside. It sounds about like this:
Whiny-self: This (insert issue here) SUCKS!
Bootstrap-self: Shhhh. There are lots of positive things going on, suck it up and move on girl.
Whiny-self: But, but..I'm (insert adjective here: frustrated, broke, angry, etc.)
Bootstrap-self: So whatchya gonna DO about it, besides whine?
And that's usually followed by a big sigh and some kind of action. I have a noisy and very active mind, with some kind of internal conversation occurring most of my waking hours. I use positive thinking, reality checks and the like all of the time to keep things moving forward. But there are simply times that I think you have to vent. Getit off your chest. Express it, and then move on. Otherwise it builds up inside and just hangs around there waiting to manifest in the health of your body or your mind, or maybe both.
I have been really wrestling with what type of set up I should pursue for my full-time living rig. The reality is that right now, I'm not a trailer-towing kind of gal. I don't want to add to the learning curve of nomadic living the additional lessons of towing in wind, sway bars, trailer brakes and whatnot. Right now, that's simply too much for me to change at one time. Part of my new attitude is accepting that hey, maybe I can only do so much at a time, and choosing my battles conserves mental and physical energy. Because I've been up in the air about what combo of vehicles, trailers or bikes to buy, I've done the big 'nothing'. Paralysis by analysis. So today I am going out to find the actual worth of my SUV and begin to make actual decisions.
The hammering of the stress of my job has really made me hit the ads regarding workamping. Can I do it sooner? Am I fooling myself that changing my living arrangements and job structure will simply trade one set of stressors for another? The reality is that I'd like to go hang out with someone who is doing it, and see for myself what it really is like. I know that hosting in a national forest will be vastly different than hosting or working in an RV park setting. And I realize there are jerky asinine people that also camp, they are not just confined to the big business world or on the road next to me swearing, cutting into traffic and flipping people off. I have mused over the snakes, coons, spiders and frogs, along with ticks and skeeters, that will be some of the natural inhabitants of the new way of life. I've thought about the thoughtlessness of people when they are staying in a place not theirs, and the types that will care how they leave a place and the types that will not, and will use the outdoors as their personal cesspool just as they would their own places. The big picture is that there is no nirvana that I can drive towards that will solve every problem. Yes, I might can recharge under the stars between jobs with just the wind and the creation as my companions, but everywhere I go there will be people of all types and attitudes. The only constant I have control over is how I react and interact with them, and how much of their negativity I keep with me or let go and ignore. So yeah, "Don't Worry, Be Happy" is back on the table as the reality check.
Thanks for dropping by and reading. If you're interested in the former life I wrote about, you can check it out here: http://sunflowersolacefarm.wordpress.com/>
~Sheket
Nearly ten years ago I walked away from the Fortune 100 corporate environment in technology to follow love and dreams. Started my own business with the thought that I'd have more time for real life activities...ha! Circumstances altered that path and for a while, after starting over in another state, I worked multiple temporary part-time jobs in other arenas besides the one that I cut my corporate teeth in. But the technology sector was where I knew my strengths and soon I was back in that field, but in a much smaller company. I thought the smaller size might make it more tolerable, might give me more satisfaction. I will say that being in a company where the owner walks up to your desk and asks how things are going does make a big difference. Talk about pressure! In the larger corporate environments, you are but a cog in a wheel - perhaps a well-paid cog, but people can come and go and not much changes. Not so in a tiny company. That lesson was hammered home again this week when our only qualified full-time Project Manager was abruptly fired for a conference call statement made in a moment of unthinking - a statement that cost the company a very large project and a big chunk of the projected revenue for the year. Now, in addition to my regular workload, I have inherited management of one of the projects as well. Hello twelve-hour work days without a lunch. Welcome back stress, someone I've been trying to avoid. Oh, and I have a few confessions to make: I like to do a good job. Quality is important to me. I have high personal standards and I expect others to have the same. I know people make mistakes, so when a mistake is made, admit it, own it and fix it. In these economic hard times, being employed is a gift in my opinion. I know so many that are not employed. I try to treat my employment with value; even though I seek to leave it in the near future I intend to do a good job until I do so.
And therein is the rub. For the short-term, I can handle this additional workload even though it comes at a cost - less time, more stress, more responsibility, less dollar-per-hour earnings (salaried workers don't get overtime). But how long do I give it? I figure it will take thirty days to locate, interview and hire a new PM.
LOL. I started this post back on February 29th. Needless to say, the 12 hour days turned into 14 hours or more, no lunches, working on Sundays and a complete aversion to computers once my work day was finally complete. I have a new thankfulness for Shabbat – a day I am commanded not to work. I was asked to put off my vacation plans and did so. Therefore, no trip to the farm to weed out items to sell or to keep and store, no time to revel in the spring in the countryside, no photo journal opportunities….and there still isn’t a PM hired (although I did apply for the position).
In the interim, I’ve turned fifty. Eldest Child turned twenty-four. Days have blurred together until I finally admitted that I. Can’t. Do. It. All. So contrary to my nature, I took bill-paying monies and popped for a two-night stay on the beach with Eldest Child to celebrate both of our birthdays. It was great. I buried myself in “The Hunger Games” trilogy (via my Kindle app on Android), lolled in the sun (and got burned), walked on the beach, and visited small amounts of my favorite Tequila, Tarantula Azul. It was heavenly. I also did a lot of thinking. I met some folks who frequent RV sites for the summer since they are retired. Learned of some awesome places up north that I’d love to spend some time workamping. But I have had absolutely zero time to even DREAM of my dream, much less put any active work effort towards implementing my REAL LIFE.
There are some benefits to being in Florida in the spring time. There are the gorgeous sunsets and huge, golden full moons. There are the opportunities (even if untaken) of fabulous star views above the gently splashing waves. The gentle scents of plumeria that make walking the dog just before bed a delightful sensory experience. New sand hill crane fledglings, rather like ducklings on stilts.
But spring in Florida also colors me with sadness and longing for my dead husband. It was our time of year to snatch up ‘local’ places for a weekend and take moonlit strolls on the beach; to spend countless hours looking for my favorite shells; to sit on a balcony with a cocktail and people-watch, making up stories of who they were or why they were here. Spring and fall are the two seasons that make the lack of a partner a painful thing, the awakening and the tucking in times of the earth.
However, I am not certain that I will ever consider a partner again. I simply don’t trust people any more. People seem unable to just be. Unable to just be themselves rather than a hyped-up version. Unable to just sit, and be still. And I feel disconnected from others because my lifestyle dreams, desires, eating habits, beliefs…are all so out of step with what is taken for ‘normal’ these days. Should I ever get to the point that I consider a partnership, I can’t even begin to fathom where I’d look, or where I would find the energy to burrow into someone’s mind to get to know their dreams, their desires, their passions. So, like other things, this thought just simmers on the back burner. I guess I just don’t want it to go unattended, like a simmering pot that suddenly burns dry and turns acrid and has to be tossed out.
I don’t want that to be me.
Fifty doesn’t seem to feel older; but I do hope that it begins to feel wiser. I want to regain the one thing that is mine, and that is time and space to care for me. This post is the beginning of that attempt, once more.
Have some matzo brie over a camp stove, and kick back for me.
~Sheket
