A week after the Art Show Epiphany, we've run smack into an existential dilemma. A big one. One that piled up in Rick all week before exploding in a 5,000-word email of anxiety and doubt. The email was both to me and, to a certain extent, about me.
He fears that I’ll change my mind, that I’ll blame him if the adventure turns to boredom. And that, ultimately, it could jeopardize our relationship if it doesn’t work out. Change is feeling risky to him. He writes: I will not jeopardize what we have for some chimera of greener grass overseas or on the road. (Yes, he actually writes like that.)
I respond immediately; it’s on my mind, too. I fear that I’m too lazy; that the early mornings, manual labor, and cold/heat/rain/fog/name it will turn me into a whining, whimpering, snotty-nosed child. That Rick will hate the RV/art show life and blame me. That I’ll hate it and blame him. And I fear that being caught up in an enterprise that’s all about Rick – Rick’s photos, Rick’s art – will leave me empty and envious.
I write: I love dreaming about downsizing and offloading and “shedding” and li
ving more simply. But I’m afraid I’m full of shit.
So after work, we head to the barge to hash it out. We live on a lake, and the “barge” is our floating dock with a little motor on the back. We cruise over to pick up some pizza at the shopping center, open a bottle of wine, and get down to business, slicing and dicing.
Stay tuned.
He fears that I’ll change my mind, that I’ll blame him if the adventure turns to boredom. And that, ultimately, it could jeopardize our relationship if it doesn’t work out. Change is feeling risky to him. He writes: I will not jeopardize what we have for some chimera of greener grass overseas or on the road. (Yes, he actually writes like that.)
I respond immediately; it’s on my mind, too. I fear that I’m too lazy; that the early mornings, manual labor, and cold/heat/rain/fog/name it will turn me into a whining, whimpering, snotty-nosed child. That Rick will hate the RV/art show life and blame me. That I’ll hate it and blame him. And I fear that being caught up in an enterprise that’s all about Rick – Rick’s photos, Rick’s art – will leave me empty and envious.
I write: I love dreaming about downsizing and offloading and “shedding” and li
ving more simply. But I’m afraid I’m full of shit.So after work, we head to the barge to hash it out. We live on a lake, and the “barge” is our floating dock with a little motor on the back. We cruise over to pick up some pizza at the shopping center, open a bottle of wine, and get down to business, slicing and dicing.
Stay tuned.
2 comments:
Could you do a trial period--say one year? Or is it just too much commitment financially (such as purchasing the RV, etc.) to run a trial? I had some friends who were going to permanently live on their sailboat but after a couple of years they decided it wasn't for them and created a new land-life. Is there a way to avoid all-or-nothing? Just a thought.
Hey Linda - thanks for the comment! It's a pretty big ramp-up, but we're looking at ways to test it out before we sign up for RV driving lessons! In my perfect world, we'll do everything for a year or two. The challenge comes in narrowing that list from "everything" to something a bit more manageable ;-)
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