Last week was frustrating. Pipes leaked. Hoses broke. Some of us got cabin fever. Some of us argued about dumb crap. I started to obsess about jobs, or lack thereof.
This way of life looks enticing from a distance, and for the most part, it’s just as appealing up close. But right now I find myself daydreaming about a stationary tiny house situated in big bright field at the foot of the mountains. About having friends I see on a regular basis. About participating in a community.
As I’ve mentioned before, I knew this would happen. I knew I’d start seeing what RVers refer to as the “sticks-and-bricks” lifestyle through rose-colored glasses.
I assume these feelings of longing are just part of a phase in adjusting to nomadic life, and if we persist, we’ll get through it. I try to remind myself of all the benefits of being a nomad in a tiny space: relatively low cost of living, minimal cleaning, plenty of time with my family, the opportunity to see national parks and wild places, the ability to move on whenever we want. Flexibility. My whole life, I’ve craved flexibility. And now I have it.
We’re in lovely Flagstaff for the next couple of weeks. This week, Sam and I will be homeschooling, going on field trips (Sunset Crater is at the top of our list), and experimenting with some art projects. I’ll be running less, because I’m in the midst of the marathon taper. We’ll be hiking and enjoying the fall colors. I’ll be trying not to worry about money or where we’ll be a few months from now.