My first thought after I had been bomb-shelled by the idea of selling most of our worldly possessions and moving into an RV was, well…what about me and the things I want to do with my life? They were shameful thoughts, and selfish. I wish I had been more open minded when confronted with this potential shift in our lives. Been more like: what a great opportunity for all of us! What a fabulous life we could live on the road! How many amazing things we could see! And see them together! Think of the quality time we could spend together!
But no, instead I thought about myself and my inability to do the things I wanted to do, like continue to plan long overnights on the bike or on foot. I could ride the Arizona Trail again. I could do another run in the Colorado Trail Race. If we left everything behind, sure I could bring the bikes and gear, but I wouldn’t be able to go off on my own for long stretches of time. Wouldn’t I get sick of the kids and my wife while in such close proximity for so long?
As I thought about it more I realized that there was a feeling of having failed in some way to create a life we all loved. If I had been more successful in that regard than perhaps we wouldn’t feel the need to change everything so drastically and pull up our roots, savagely, from the ground. I felt I had failed Wendy by not being able to provide better, so that she would not have the constant strain of being the one making most of the money. We couldn’t survive on my pay. If I had more friends, the girls wouldn’t feel so bored and alone all the time. If I hadn’t moved us away from family, the girls could hang with cousins, and uncles and grandparents more often, giving them a regular respite from their parents. If I hadn’t been so focused on my own adventures over the years, the girls would be more immersed in an activity.
I felt that I had failed myself in ways, too. The last five or six years of my life, after I lost my job with Navteq, felt blunted. I hadn’t committed fully to anything I attempted: Blue Mountain Kitchens, starting a woodworking business, teaching in various capacities. I felt stagnated, like I’d gotten on a train and decided to ride it to a certain station. I got off but I lingered for too long and while I dilly-dallied the train stopped coming to the station. That’s how un-opportunistic I am. ‘Well, let’s see…’ and by then it’s too late.
This feeling of failure has been difficult to shed. It’s because I come from families who put down roots and let them run deep. They make connections that last lifetimes. They network and mingle and get together. Transience was not something that Woodlands or Haskins did. Also, I’m a doubter, not a believer. Something that has plagued me all my life. I want – so badly – to believe in myself and my abilities, but I always sabotage myself. My own worst enemy and that is enough to really piss me off. I realize that the drive to overcome those doubt has allowed me to do really cool – even great – things, however.
So I try to hang on to that realization.
I am, however, proud of my phlegmatic ways (sounds better to say stoic). I’ve never been a big fan of those among us who are so sure of themselves and their stances. How can they not wonder, and sway a little, in the privacy of a backroom? How can they draw a line in the sand and then stand behind it so stubbornly? I wouldn’t make a great politician…duh.
So, sadly, the initial thoughts that raged through my brain in the middle of the night depriving me of sleep and rendering me a prime candidate for space-cadet-of-the-year through the days were only selfish in nature. I won’t be able to do this. I won’t be able to do that. How will I deal with this? How will I deal with that?
It wasn’t until the sad and scary incident with our dog that my fears and selfishness were nudged toward acceptance and open-mindedness.
