It’s been almost 9 months since we left safety behind. Almost nine months since we packed our things into moving pods and hit the road in the RV we were once certain we would sell. Almost nine months since we sent those things ahead of us from Georgia to Washington State, and almost 8 months since we arrived there ourselves and began questioning if it was the right place for us to land after all.

Things are very different for us now. I’m currently sitting in a little ramshackle, off-grid cottage in a remote and dusty part of the Mojave desert in the middle of a heatwave. There’s a whole lot of blistering sun and shade is a hard-to-find commodity. The blinds are drawn, fans are blowing, and the swamp cooler is pumping out air that is only slightly cooler than what’s hanging around outside.

You might be wondering what the hell I’m doing here. Honestly, sometimes I wonder the same thing. It’s been one hell of a trip and this journal entry is a way to try and summarize the last year and a half — for myself as much as anyone else.

Bear with me as I try to make sense of it all..

Sometimes change comes up on you in no time at all – like lightning or the flick of a switch. A month goes by, something happens and suddenly your life is heading in the opposite direction. Other times change is like a million drops filling up a bucket over time– a slow steady trudging through days towards a mirror that reflects back a person you no longer recognize.

The last few years were like that for me. I know it was a gradual process; a million things adding up over time like drops in a bucket, but realizing I no longer recognized myself one day hit me like lightning. By the time I had this realization I was in a pretty bad way. And while I had certainly made choices that contributed to me arriving at that place, I feel I can offer myself a little grace for the fact that there was a global panini and pretty much everyone was depressed at one point or another.

But it took almost the whole year to hit me. It was just before Christmas 2020 when I realized that I was really, really depressed. And I don’t think I’d ever been depressed before that. Not really. Certainly not for any extended period of time. I’ve always been pretty good at finding the bright side of a situation and letting that guide me through any challenges I’ve faced. But this time it got me good.

The new year came and I was feeling somewhat hopeful, but not a full month into 2021, I learned that depression has nothing on grief when my beloved dog, Ruby, became ill suddenly and died in a prolonged and traumatic way.

Truly, her death brought me to my knees. The sadness I felt was all-consuming; my chest felt heavy and hollow at the same time. I would open the door to my empty house and just crumble. She had brought so much joy and meaning to my life that when she was gone I suddenly felt that there was none to be found elsewhere.

It was her death that caused Eric and I to look at each other one day and declare that we had been settling in life and that a change was necessary & needed. There’s nothing like death to make you realize how short life is – too short by far to settle for a life partially lived – for any amount of time.

For three years we’d made our home in a place that didn’t feel like home anymore. On paper everything was great; good jobs, great house, family and friends nearby.. But we were both exhausted and deeply unhappy. And so, even though we weren’t really sure where to go, we resolved to leave Georgia. We’d pack up our things and hit the road in that RV we held onto, heading west to a state we loved and had longed for, and trusting that our home would present itself to us once we got there.

At this point I have to ask you to forgive me though, dear reader. Because these are not happy-go-lucky things. And because I want this to be an enjoyable enjoyable read and not a downer, but it’s also a chronicling of life events and there’s still some shitty shit left for me to chronicle:

On the heels of our resolution to leave Georgia once and for all, and after a trip to the OBGYN, I learned that there were growths on my ovaries and my blood work showed that I had elevated cancer antigens.

The depression that had been overcome by grief was then subsumed by terror.

Almost 8 weeks went by before I was able to have surgery and receive any conclusive answers, and every day of it was like staring into the Mariana Trench. I was petrified by the potential future I was facing. I tried my best to trust that all would be well, but I was terrified.

The day of the surgery finally came. After being kept on the knife’s edge of death for 5 hours, several cysts had been removed from my ovaries, several fibroids removed from from my uterus, and something I had long suspected was confirmed: I have endometriosis. But thanks be to all that is holy, there was no cancer. I was shaken up mentally, physically, spiritually and emotionally, but I was resting. And recovering.

Pre-op. Right after they gave me the “good stuff”.

Then at my 2-month post-op follow-up with my doctor, I learned that the cysts had begun to grow back on one of my ovaries. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot.

I’ll just say here for the record that nothing debilitates me on all levels more than the loss or uncertainty of my physical health. I just become…

s t u c k

The old bastard fear begins whispering in my ear and before I know it he’s calling all the shots.

Suddenly, Eric and I were questioning everything.. Would we have to stay in Georgia now? Would I have to have another surgery? If we did leave, would I become ill on the road and need to find another doctor? What about our health insurance? Would it last until we could get settled somewhere else? Whatifwhatifwhatif… All valid questions, all driven by fear.

Well, fuck fear. That’s right. I’ll say it again and you can say it with me: F U C K F E A R.

So we did that. We pushed through our fear together. We decided to trust that our path would be guided and provided for and on August 11th, 2021, after packing our things into pods and sending them on ahead of us, we set out west on a road trip that eventually brought us here to the Mojave desert. A few weeks into our journey, the place we’d hoped would present itself to us as our new home did so, but it was not in Washington so we were a little freaked out and unsure. It is a very different place from the one we imagined we’d end up in and we wanted to be sure before we moved our things. Again.

The pods in Georgia. We ended up only using two!

As we debated and mulled over our options, we were presented with the opportunity to spend the winter hosting a glamping property just outside Joshua Tree National Park. So we took it. And we have used the time here to let the dust of the last couple years to settle and to clarify our intentions for the future before we embark on this next new chapter.

Sunkissed Glamping, Twentynine Palms, CA. Photo by Eric.

But now, dear reader, it’s time.

Next week, 8 months and 23 days since we left safety behind, we will hit the road again. This time, finally, we’re heading to the place we intend to be our new home: Taos, New Mexico.

I’ve learned that when prayers are answered, often the answer comes in the form of something you’ve never considered before. Imagine that.

Chronicle of a Life Unfold