“Does it feel weird,” I ask Chad, “going to work, knowing at the end of the day your coworkers are going back to normal homes, and you’re coming home to a 98-square foot cargo trailer?”
“Not really, no.”
Chad got a real job. A job that requires the 29 years of experience he’s amassed. A job that demands the blare of an alarm clock to rouse before the sun.
He’ll roll out of bed, and I’ll tug the covers up over my shoulders, snuggling into the warm spot he’s abandoned. The trailer shakes a little as he works his way into sturdy work pants, pulls on his rough, stiff, super pilled socks, and cinches the laces of his leather work boots, adding double knots because he’s that kind of guy. Meanwhile, the electric kettle’s working itself into a rollicking frenzy before finally clicking off. He makes himself English Breakfast tea. Pouring the scalding water over the bag and into a thermos we got for a dollar at a thrift store in Alabama.
The rest of the water sits waiting for me to get up and make coffee.
Chad’s office is literally right across the street from the RV park.
“Smoothie?” I’ll text, when he’s not out in the field, and he’ll shoot back a time, “gimme 15…”
I’ll set about making it. I’ll slip outside into the cold, open the back of the truck and the lid of the cooler where we keep the blueberries, since we don’t have a freezer.
Most days, Chad works out first thing in the morning and showers at the gym.
I do the same, though prefer the afternoon. The gym showers are some of the best: Incredible water pressure, and they can get super-hot for as long as I like. Talk about incentive for going to the gym, a shower on the end of a stick makes for the perfect proverbial carrot.
Space at the RV park is a fraction of what we’d pay if we were to rent an apartment or house. It’s a little inconvenient in the winter months since the water’s shut off, but we get by. We load the tall narrow 5-gallon water jugs into a grocery cart, and fill up at the store every five days or so.
There’s something about being rootless and unencumbered, living ‘normal adjacent’ to others. It’s not only doable, it just makes sense, at least for us and our lifestyle. We don’t have any debt, we’re free to move around and explore, and are saving a ton. Overall, it’s incredible how easy it is to live in this small space.
One of my favorite things about Wyoming is the population, or lack thereof. No big cities. I think the largest is Cheyenne, with a total of around 65,000 people. That’s half – half! – of the capacity of a major football stadium. Here, nature abounds, nature rules! A trip to Walmart is a three-hour round-trip drive along a one lane semi-deserted road that has some of the most beautiful landscape I’ve ever seen.
The Walmart itself is located at the base of a mountain. Walking through the wide concrete glass and metal entrance, the scent of Subway off to the right intermingles with the unmistakable scent of the giant conglomerate itself: Cheap plastic old sweat with notes of metal and screeching high-pitched sugar.
Besides food, toiletries, and personal care, nothing else is relevant to us. We not only don’t need it; we simply have no space for it, and I have no desire to shift gears to include it in our life.
To think, I spent so much time and money adding and accumulating things. Over and over, trying to make it better. Trying to feel more fulfilled, trying to buy my way out of an unpleasant (albeit temporary – they all are) feeling.
And the simple yet harsh reality, I was doing it wrong. I should have been doing the opposite. By decluttering instead of adding, I’ve finally found the room to breathe.
TRAVEL & ADVENTURE 