When I was in college, a friend of mine mused, “All you really need to live is a car and a gym membership.” I remember my mouth dropping in horror. I probably spouted all kinds of silly reasons why no one can live in a car. It kind of kills me that he was right. I hate being wrong.
A couple months ago I informed my mom that I wanted to rent out my condo and live in an RV. “Christine! YOU ARE NOT HOMELESS! YOU HAVE A HOME!” She spouted all kinds of silly reasons why no one can live in a car.
She settled down a bit after I said, “Mom, I want to live in an RV. I’ll get to travel, see all kinds of things I wouldn’t get to see otherwise, survive on a smaller income, and save money.”
She still didn’t buy it. “But you won’t be around when I need you. You’ll be hundreds of miles away.”
I assured her that I didn’t plan on traversing the entire continent in an RV. For the foreseeable future I really just want to stick to California. Living in my condo in Glendale, I have to drive 6 hours to get to her house. In an RV, I could be anywhere from Santa Barbara to Reno to Redding, and I’d be closer to her than I am now.
And just yesterday she asked, “Did you buy your RV yet?” I’d like to think she came around because she thinks is a great idea, but I’m pretty sure she’s just resigned herself to coming on board because she knows I’m going to do it anyway, with or without her blessing.