Perchance to Hope

Spoiler alert: Star Trek Discovery

I'm about to let my geek colors fly and embrace my inner nerdiness.  You have been forewarned.

I've always been a fan of Star Trek created by Gene Roddenberry and his vision for our future, a brave future exploring strange new worlds, seeking out new life and new civilizations, and boldly going where no one has gone before. 

In short, because volumes could be written on the topic,  Roddenberry's vision is a type of utopia centered around human society's future evolution as we reach out to the worlds and subsequent civilizations around us within the stars.  It's a time in earth's future when we've evolved to a point, not of perfection, but to one of being able to look beyond our more selfish individual base instincts to one of reaching out to other.  Other in terms of others not apparent, on the surface, to be like us at all; other in terms of embracing the inalienable reality of the importance of respecting life outside of ourselves; other in terms of attempting to understand, support, and embrace infinite diversity within infinite combinations; other in terms of the immutable truth that life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness is for everyone, not just ourselves.  This is what Star Trek has always meant to me.  This is the vantage point from which I go forth into my own exploration of life in the universe around me.  That's why "To Love So Well The World" exists for me as a blog. Homo sum; humani nihil a me alienum puto.

Yesterday something I watched made me weep almost uncontrollably, multiple times. No, not the presidential debate, sad as it was, but rather the newest episode of Star Trek Discovery.  I would suggest that if you don't want to encounter a SPOILER DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER.

In the third season of Star Trek Discovery, the intrepid crew of the USS Discovery has been forced, in order to save the universe, to leave their own time period in a one way trip and head into the very distant and unknown future.  In this new future, they discover that the United Federation of Planets (UFP), once a great unifying force in the galaxy dedicated to the above mentioned vision and it's exploratory arm Starfleet has been all but destroyed.  They then begin their quest to unravel the mystery of what has brought down the United Federation of Planets and all they hold dear while at the same time trying to discover what this means to them, their identity, and their mission.

Much like another Star Trek series, Star Trek Voyager which follows the lives of the crew of the USS Voyager who have been displaced on the other side of the galaxy in relation to their home in the Alpha Quadrant, the crew of the USS Discovery must learn what it means to follow the vision and goals of the UFP while essentially being on their own, displaced in time, while experiencing life threatening challenges.

Without getting into to much plot and scene work here, suffice it to say, their moving commitment to the ideals of the Federation and as such, Gene Roddenberry, and by extrapolation, the ideals of the United States is heart moving.  When faced with becoming something else, something less than, and betraying those ideals mentioned above in order to expedite their plight or save their very lives, they choose instead to make a stand, asserting:  "That is not who we are; that is not what we're about.  We're Starfleet."  And I wept.

I wept in large part because I think we as Americans are in the middle of a existential election and have been losing our way.  In the past 3-4 years we've embraced a political reality that is diametrically opposed to those ideals mentioned above and the ideals enshrined in the Declaration of Independence. Other is now dangerous, less than, and somehow wicked because other is not like us.  We seem to be embracing a world where it's okay to make fun of people for whatever reason; to name call in order to denigrate and diminish other; to boldly lie about anything and everything even in the face of verifiable reality and truth to the contrary; to warp cultural understanding of reality into something it's not because we fear to lose our own personal identity and reality; to disregard science and verifiable fact in service of personal preference or convenience; to abuse other families and children through killing, separation, and caging because they are not like us, their skin is a different color or their gender and or sexuality is different than ours and we fear them.  These are just some of the ways we seem to have gone off track.  And I wept.

I hope we can find our way back to our mission, back to our goals, back to our ideals instead of embracing this fear filled and self-focused isolationism that we seem to have embraced over the last 3-4 years.  I hope we can once again embrace the Great Experiment and the noble and bold goals it embodies.  I hope that we can again be the United States of America, albeit not a perfect union, but one committed to the ideals enshrined in the Declaration of Independence.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

And now perchance to hope...

Does That Thing Even Run?

For the most part, my last year and a half living in a rolling home has been amazing, memorable, and for the most part the people I have encountered have been kind, hospitable, encouraging, and even envious. 

Sure, it's had its challenges, trials, and tribulations.  There has been a series of repairs, though no breakdowns which stranded me.  I switched vehicles in mid trip which was a journey in and of itself.   There have been some health challenges which seem to have been mollified for now. There have been longer than unexpected layovers where I spent much more time in one place or another than I had anticipated. And some of the shows and sales I have had haven't been up the financial levels I am use to.

However, all in all, my surprise life in a rolling home has been an adventure I wouldn't trade for anything and one I would recommend for almost anyone wanting to learn more about themselves and the world in which they live.

And then there are moments that just make me shake my head...

During my continued and extended stay in the Ozarks Mountains I rolled over to a retreat center/ministry place I have a deep and loving connection with.  The people who run the place are absolutely the best and I count them as dear friends.  Their hospitality, generosity, and kindness is the kind one rarely finds in this old world of ours but one often shared in these here Ozark Mountains.  These folks and their ministry are a blessing to me in every sense of the word.

I had been staying there in my motorhome, Milton, when a wedding party booked all of the lodging facilities on the grounds.  This didn't really affect me as, in the lyrics of an Arlo Guthrie tune, I was boondocked "off the side of a side road" and was in fully self-contained mode with no hookups, nor need.

I had been out and about on the town with a friend, when we returned to the motorhome to find a fellow wanting to speak with me.  He was with the wedding party.

Now let me say, never wanting to be a burden, I had checked with the team at the center to see if I needed to move off the grounds to make room for anything or anyone from the wedding party. They had assured me that I was fine.  I reiterated yet again my offer to vacate and they assured me everything it really was okay for me to stay there. Being parked barely off of a gravel road leading to several houses down the street and plenty of distance away from any loding or building and completely out of sight of the wedding circus tent they were raising, I thought I was in a pretty out of the way place.

This fellow with the wedding party didn't think so.  He said that they were going to use that area for parking. 

Now, my motorhome is a mini motorhome.  It's five feet longer than a conventional full sized van and  at twenty-two feet, just one foot longer than a 1972 Oldsmobile Delta Eighty-Eight Royale Convertible that I use to own. Milton takes up a single parking space and a half.  For an RV, he has a small footprint.

So I looked at the fellow, looked at the proposed parking area, looked at Milton, and asked a gentle and yet pointed question,

"Do you really think that a parking space and a half would make a huge difference in the parking spot availability?"

Seeing the logic in my question he shifted tactics...

"Well, the bride and groom want to take some pictures with an uninterrupted view."

I countered...

"And a grassy knoll parked with the cars, trucks, and vans of wedding guests wouldn't obstruct the view?"

By then I knew what was up, they simply objected to the motorhome itself.  Milton is an 1985 model and though he's in good shape for his age, he is not, however, the most beautiful boy at the dance.  I find most motorhomes and RVs to be terribly ugly and older ones can be even more so.  Milton might not be the most beautiful boy at the party but he ain't the ugliest one either.  One might gently describe him as homely, a fitting description since he is my home.

I quickly kicked into patronizing wide smile mode and was in the process of assuring him I would move and that it would take me a little bit of time to have everything ready to go, when he asked a question that triggered no small amount of egotistic irritation in me.

"Does that thing even run?"

I didn't say what went through my mind at that point.  My southern manicured manners wouldn't allow it. I won't even write it but instead I'll leave it to your colorful imagination.  I had previously turned around and was getting ready to climb in Milton to ready him for departure but this fellow had hit a nerve in me and he now warranted my full seething attention so I slowly turned back around.

As I turned I let slide across my face the most southern deprecating smile I could muster.  One that spoke volumes - with curled lips and almost fiery glaring eyes. One that would make small southern children quake in the realization that they just had just crossed a point of no return with their teacher and had better retreat quickly.  One that would make Pastor John rethink his refusal to the invitation to Sunday dinner from Sister Margret when they shook hands after the service.  I think I even straightened my shoulders and squared them off a bit when I offered,

"Why, yes of course he runs!  I've traveled in him quite a few places and in fact I live in him.  I am a longstanding visitor and guest to this place and am here, like you, with permission."

My ego got the best of me and to my shame I pointed out that not only was I a frequent guest and visitor there but that I had also, at times over the years, held mass there in the chapel and conducted other gatherings and retreats on the grounds.  I am ashamed of this part of the conversation as the proper and humble thing was to simply say nothing but smile and move on.  However, my perception at the time, rightly or wrongly, was that somehow he was treating me less than and talking down to me and that poked my usually slumbering ego into waking.

At that exchange the fellow looked at me differently and began to backpedal, trying to offer several alternative parking places for me, none of which would have really worked for the wedding party or for me but he was trying, bless his heart. He now looked a little less condescending and aggressive and perhaps even a little penitent and I dare say sheepish.

Inwardly I smiled at his new found humility and as quickly, felt revulsion and guilt at my own shameless display of peacockery.  I recovered my sanity and stinging with disappointment in myself, smiled tiredly and gently said,

"Well, that's neither here nor there.  I'll gladly move just give me a few minutes."

I told my friend that I'd be ready to go in a few and where I planned to rendezvous with her to figure out where to head next.  To my friend's ingenuity, and while I was readying Milton to move and the wedding fellow was still trying to find a compromise, she called her landlord, whom I had previously met, to see if I could simply park in the driveway overnight.  The lady and lord of the land graciously consented and we were off.  My friend and good old fashioned Ozark Mountain hospitality had saved the day.

In VanLife or RVLife people in more traditional homes and living circumstances can sometimes and often do, refer to us as homeless and I think they honestly see us that way.  They question our quality of life, the sanity of our choices, and often try to project their own needs, desires, and insecurities upon us.  People have even suggested I am punishing myself by living the minimalistic lifestyle I live.  Nothing could be further from the truth. 

I always counter with: I'm not homeless, my home just rolls where yours stays in place.  And with: I'm not deprived at all but quite the opposite, I feel like I live a decadent life of comfort, freedom, and ease.  They then almost always ask solicitously, "But you really want a real home don't you?"

And I answer, "I have a real home."

The maybe unconscious condescension in these types of questions and assumptions sometimes challenges me.  It did so during this encounter. It may have been my own projection onto this fellow with the wedding party and I own that but it seemed to me that he began the conversation treating me as a seemingly homeless person in a broken down vehicle who was something to be pushed aside from the view of the bridal coronation that was to take place.  As something less than.

The whole exchange has offered me the gift of introspection.  After all, the only thing I can honestly do is to look within myself for a change in my own heart, rooting out my own insecurities and my own stinging pride and to change my own reactions when such encounters happen and they will always happen while I choose to live in a real home which just happens to be on wheels.

The wedding party fellow was only acting out of ignorance, wedding stress, and within a construct of societal norms and projections.  All of which were temporary, forgivable, and able to be addressed within the context of mind-expanding education.  He gave me a great gift though, one of self-discovery and exploration, and for that, I thank him.

It also gives me further insight into how people treat others who unlike me and those of us embracing this #VanLife or RVLife lifestyle may have been forced into a living situation such as ours, and how those unfortunate people may feel with the kind of condescension that often comes from others in regards to their forced lifestyle.  That's another gift of this encounter, one of broadening and deepening my empathy and again I'm thankful.

Hopefully, in the future, I will be more sensitive to everyone concerned with this kind of issue and in this kind of encounter.  Until then, I'll work on my own ego and tendency to project. 

I will also work on my deprecating southern smile. I don't really think it was withering enough!  More evidence that I've spent too much time in the northern states.

Happy trails!  Do what you love and love what you do!

Day #472 #VanLife: Minimalism and Freedom or VanLife vs. RVLife

Living in a Class C Motorhome is anything but simple at times and though I have many, many fewer possessions than I had when I began this journey, I feel less like a minimalist living in larger rolling house.

There's an old saying, less is more and there's so much truth to that.  As I've been continuing to downsize and minimalize, I'm coming to appreciate that truth as it translates within my reality.  Nothing could illustrate the point better than my recent adventure in moving from a full size van into a Class C mini-motorhome.

I started out this adventure in a 1995 Ford Econoline Chateau Club Wagon, the Kraken.  I spent a good deal of time working on a build-out in the van in which I could live when I did craft shows.  I meticulously engineered my build to meet my specific needs which was heavy on storage in order to store my tools, raw materials, displays, and inventory for being a traveling glassblower.

Now it's important to note than when I was getting ready for this adventure it was only going to be a part time gig while I was traveling doing craft shows.  It beat paying for hotel rooms and insured maximum profitability for me.  However after 6 months I returned home to a failed relationship and a completely new reality for my life going forward.  That's when I started evaluating #VanLife and what my needs going forward were or might be.

I spent another 6 months in the Kraken living in it as a home.  It worked in very many ways but there were a few things that were troubling.  I couldn't sit straight up unless I were sitting in one of the front seats, I absolutely couldn't make glass in side the van, and my climate control was fine for cool to cold weather but during hot weather I didn't have air conditioning or even screened windows to open.  It was also hard to entertain in the van.  It was a cramped space really only built for one. Now, it's not like I have an exciting social life but one always hopes for the possibilities and I do like to cook dinner for friends et cetera.

Years ago, when I was married I traveled in a Class C motorhome with a wife and three cats.  We traveled doing much the same thing I have been doing this last year, making and selling glass.  It was a 24ft older motorhome and lacked some of the creatures comforts of other similar RVs in better condition but I really enjoyed it.  My wife did not.  We eventually returned to living in a stationary house with all the bills and all the responsibilities that come with.  One year later my wife lamented leaving the road because "life was so much easier and sweeter in the motorhome."  Too soon we get old and too late we get smart.

Having had that early experience of traveling and living in a Class C motorhome I always thought in my mind that that was the perfect situation for me as a traveling glassblower.  I could work in one, live in one, sell from one, travel in one, and even entertain in one and all in reasonable comfort.  (Wow!  While typing this I keep thinking to myself, this sounds good and the option I should focus on!)

I was in Quartzsite Arizona when I first saw the RV of my dreams, a 1985 Chevrolet MRV Mini-Motorhome.  So when the opportunity arose to turn seven hundred glass hummingbirds into a 22ft Class C motorhome I jumped at the chance.  "Milton" became mine.

Everything worked in him and the roof didn't leak.  The refrigerator was new, to the tune of over a thousand dollars.  The generator was practically unused and Milton had been obviously cared for all of his life.  He also had half the miles my van had on it.  His awning was great and he had a new mattress in the full size bed.  Even his tires were pretty new.  All in all, he was a great vehicle and home.

I danced back and forth on whether to keep him or not.  I didn't go into this change of lifestyle blindly. Because of my former travels in in a Class C, I knew of the added expense in gas, oil, and fluids for travel; I knew of the greater cost of repairs not only in regards to the "house" part of the vehicle but also in regards to the mechanics of the aging van part of the vehicle; I knew of the parking challenges and I knew of the driving challenges.  I understood how greater luxury would mean less freedom because I would need more money for this new living arrangement and to make more money I'd have to work more, making and selling more glass.  Being more of a slave to money meant less freedom.  I knew all this and still I chose the new RV. I tearfully sold the Kraken and embraced my new life.

My gas mileage has been predictably bad but then I am comparing it to sixteen to nineteen miles a gallon in the van and so four to eight miles a gallon in the RV is terrible.  So far, my repairs have exceeded the amount I spent on the van the entire time I owned it and when I sold it the van was in pretty good condition.  I am even now at this writing struggling with an engine repair that may be more serious than I thought at first.

There's no doubt about it, moving into Milton and selling the Kraken has slowed my journey to a standstill.  If it's not the cost of repairs then it's the cost of fuel.  I'm not sure I continue to want to trade my freedom for some creature comforts or conveniences that aren't critical to my enjoyment of life on the road.

Embracing minimalism has taught me how little I need to be comfortable, content, and indeed happy and how needing so very little gives one a greater sense and reality of freedom.  I've also realized that I crave freedom much more than I do excessive comfort or material things.  This has been a lesson well learned.

I may or may not move back into a van but I know now what its critical to my comfort and what is needed for my space.  Time will tell the story...