If any of our readers thought you’d be getting all postcard perfect “this is so amazing” blog posts from me, you may want to think again. And warning: if that’s what you’re looking for right now, read no further. To be fair, I also thought I’d be posting about how great this trip is, how peaceful and easy and simple things are, about all the wonderful beauty we are encountering, about how we are getting closer as a family. But I can’t post any of that right now. It wouldn’t be true.
I haven’t blogged in a while because…well… I didn’t want to disappoint anyone, I guess, including myself. Finally, I decided to just be honest and post what’s really going on without rose-colored glasses or “whitewashing.” So often, I think we (me included) judge ourselves, our families, our marriages, our parenting, our financial “success” based on what we see on social media or even through what others are willing to share with us. And then…we always come up short. Yet we continue to post and share mostly the good stuff. Why do we do that? Are we trying to convince others, convince ourselves? Or are there really people out there with no struggles?
So…here is how it’s really going. We are in some beautiful places with some supposed “freedom” and this trip is sucking the life out of all of us. We are all working really hard, either at jobs, school, or trying to take care of the myriad errands and tasks that seem to have doubled since we’ve been on the road. We are often at each other’s throats. Ray and I have had some very serious and scary marriage conversations as well as several “when do we give up?” conversations. I have screamed at everyone in the family, including the dogs. There have been many tears, temper tantrums and moments where I’ve asked myself “WTF are we doing?” Ray and I have said to each other on a few occasions “Seriously, why did we leave home? We could be sitting in our offices, working our asses off, planning what’s for dinner, running errands, dealing with a hormonal teenager and two very energetic dogs. In a bigger space, in a known space and with our community around us. At least home feels “normal, familiar.”
“What is so darned difficult?” you doubters may ask. And I would have been that doubter as well. I am quick to judge others who seem to have it better, easier. Somehow I believed that anyone privileged/rich/free enough to do a trip like this really has nothing to complain about. And maybe part of what we’re doing is judging ourselves? We don’t feel we should be able to struggle because of what we’re doing. And let me be clear…we are privileged, rich and free compared to so many people both within and outside of the US. And…it’s still really fucking hard. It’s hard in ways that I never imagined and still can’t completely understand or explain. There is a lot of grief coming up. There is a ton of anxiety.
Could it be because we are still having to work, both of us trying to start up our own businesses from scratch while doing this thing? Though I just had an opportunity to talk to some friends who did something similar several years ago. They didn’t have to work at the time AND they said it was hard in ways they never imagined. They expressed that it tested their limits, their resolve and their love. A LOT. Regardless of resources, being in a moving vessel was truly ungrounding for them.
Could it be that I am not the nomad I thought I was? I always believed that I was more comfortable on the road than stationary. Heck, those of you who know me remember when I lived in a van for a year with just my dog, Fred. I was almost on the Alcan highway heading to Alaska to work in a fishery for the fall (yeah, picture this vegetarian cleaning and packing fish) when an early snow came. I had just read Into the Wild and decided, quite defeatedly, that driving to Alaska would have to wait. Alaska is still waiting.
Instead, I moseyed around the Pacific Northwest and into British Columbia, biking and hiking and climbing, meeting people from all over, making a little money doing odd jobs (my friend Colleen can corroborate that I actually hung a shingle from my van offering massages for $20…that’s not creepy or weird) but not really needing much. I became an epicurean camp stove chef, a master camping spot finder, and an aficionado at sniffing out anything free. I crashed weddings, BBQs, many hotel breakfasts and even some symphonies. (hey, I didn’t say I was a total dirtbag.) One wrinkle-free dress and a tube of lip gloss and I could fit in anywhere. When winter finally came, I landed in Whistler, BC and became a nanny and a snowboarder. Until I was deported. A story for another time.
I look back on that year as the happiest I’ve ever been. How is that possible? Am I remembering correctly? Or is it so much different with a family and real bills and responsibilities? Or…perhaps, and this is scary to say...I am not that person anymore. Is some of the grief I’m experiencing the loss of a younger, freer me that I will never know again?
Somehow, though, despite all of this, I am not quite ready to give up. Though I have come close. We have come close. I have this feeling that keeps nagging at my gut that there are way bigger lessons in all of this than I originally thought. Giving up could mean missing out on the growth that comes from these lessons. Maybe there are things to learn, to shift, and maybe there are none and we are just spinning our wheels? (no pun intended) I guess time will tell. It always does. We knew it would be difficult, yet somehow I tricked myself into believing that the difficulties would be small, logistical, laughable. (I know, the poop post was laughable, thank goodness!)
Maybe there are some lessons in judgement. Of others and even more importantly, of ourselves. My worst critic, the one who is saying “get your shit together, Kimberley, what is wrong with you?” is beating me up right now. And when I’m beating myself up, it usually means I’m pummeling the ones around me too. Perhaps there are some lessons in letting go, in slowing down, in acceptance, in being present, in giving up the silly illusion that I can control it all. None of those have ever come easily for me.
Or maybe the lesson really is just to put on latex gloves before dumping the poop chute. That, I can do.
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