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Found our friends

Soaking it all in

Tourist vibes

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Finally there, but not pt. 2

That week, we found comfort in discovering problems and addressing them. I kept my promise to myself and remained calm and steady. It didn’t last long but at least it lasted that first week. Between these little problems, something bigger set in. The realization that we were alone with no cell service. Living in a trailer that felt foreign to us. On a stranger’s property. Away from comforts of friends, of family, of a warm spacious place to return to. It was an adjustment to move from taking care of J’s mom’s affairs in Florida to cold, mountainous, isolated North Carolina. We had just gone through a traumatic experience and now were thrust into this lifestyle. We had wanted it so badly, but when it finally arrived, we just felt lost. We comforted ourselves by hiking every day, seeing a couple old friends, celebrating our first cooked meal on our tiny stove, getting to know June and Mollie, learning about our trailer. By the time we left, we had made new friends. June comforted us by telling us we were doing something amazing. She said she wished that her and her late husband got to travel when they were young. She sold their trailer when he died, and that was the end of her travels. June reminded us that everyone’s timeline is different, that we were on our own path and that’s all that mattered. Words we so badly needed to hear. We didn’t have much direction (or money) at that point, so June connected us to her son in Hot Springs, Arkansas. He needed extra hands to renovate a house and would pay James. Feeling slightly more at ease, we traveled on knowing there were people in the world who just wanted to be helpful and kind.

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First campfire

Spotted hills

Miss Mollie, the best girl

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Finally there, but not pt. 1

Tuckaseegee, North Carolina

11/9/2020 – 11/16/2020

On the drive to our first official campsite, we were taught another unforeseen lesson. The morning before, while leaving the Florida debacle behind, I had vowed to handle any coming obstacles with grace. This was to be a fresh start, and I would handle conflict better. I was tested right away. We towed our trailer up and down steep mountains, climbing higher and smelling the sick smell of burning rubber while our brakes did the best they could. Only five minutes away from our destination, we pushed on, glancing at each other nervously. When we finally pulled into the drive, June and Mollie greeted us warmly, and we breathed a sigh of relief. Ballyhoo and Mollie became fast friends, and so did June and us. We decided to check on the brakes later and began the painstaking process of leveling our trailer on uneven ground, without leveling blocks. After a few tries, we were successful, but the sun had almost gone down. We raced up the hill and were greeted by cows grazing on rolling hills. Golden hour in the mountains of North Carolina was heaven for us, after being in swampy Florida during the heart of summer. We headed back to our new home on wheels, and we tried to hook up to water but the nozzle broke off. June helped us replace it by the light of our headlamp. We then realized how cold it got at night, reaching temperatures in the 20s. We turned on our tiny, old space heater and bundled up in triple layers and hats. We closed all the vents and windows, and quickly realized how much condensation 3 beings that were running on adrenaline can produce. We spent mornings wiping moisture off the windows and dethawing our frozen selves. It down poured most of the first couple days we were there. Again, nervous glances were exchanged while thinking about the trailer’s previous water damage. Luckily, the sealant job we did on the corners of the trailer that summer held up. We bought copious amounts of damp rid, a dehumidifier, and learned how to breathe less. Just kidding, but we did learn to adapt to every obstacle that came our way that week.

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Finally hitting the road

Excited boy in Georgia

Slight rainbow sighting

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Turning Towards the Problem

Allentown, Georgia

11/8/2020 – 11/9/2020

The nicest man with twinkling eyes and a warm presence let us stay in his backyard on the way to the mountains. At first, we accidently passed his house and had to drive awhile without being able to turn around. Dark was fast approaching, and this would be our first time staying at a strangers’ house. We pulled up and felt at ease. He gave J advice about maneuvering the trailer and to this day, it’s the advice that he follows every time he backs the trailer up. Turn towards the problem. A helpful reminder to my conflict-avoidant self as well. This night was full of firsts. First time using the Boondockers Welcome site, first time using the bathroom in our trailer, first time hooking up to water and using it. We rested before the day ahead.

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Family time on the island

Kayaking on my 27th birthday

Our favorite park

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How Paradise was Lost, pt. 2

August 20, 2020 - November 8, 2020

In between there were precious moments of life that weren’t focused on their mother. I turned 27 and J turned 28. We accidentally scheduled Ballyhoo’s vaccinations on his 2nd gotcha day. I flew back to Chicago for a week to get a break from the intensity and see friends. We took a trip to central Florida for our 3rd anniversary and dealt with more ticks and a horrible hike through the overgrown, banana spider-filled jungle. There were trips to beautiful beaches. I visited my favorite aunt and cousins multiple times which was exactly what my heavy heart needed in those months. I got LASIK surgery and threw away my contacts and glasses and felt free in a way that was so special. We watched while the presidential election was dragged out for days, our bodies filled with dread. I drank more frequently than I had in a long time. There were smoke sessions in the screen porch with R, J, and I where we could decompress. Vent, cry, laugh, and pretend that we were back in our old apartment and things were alright.

Throughout most of our time there I couldn’t tell if their mom liked me, and if I even liked her. She was different than the last time I met her; she was even different to her own children. I felt unsure of how to interact with her, how to build a relationship when she was going through something to intimate and life altering. Somedays I swear she looked right through me. I was impatient and frustrated with her illogical thought processes and unhealthy attachment to her stuff. I was angry that she let her life get to the point where it was causing J and R so much pain and discomfort. I resented the fact that we all put our big plans on hold for her and she still fought us tooth and nail every step of the way. I’m almost positive that at least one out of the four of us cried every day. It was an experience none of us will forget.

The thing about traumatic experiences is that you come out of them changed. I felt that we shared a bond that was quietly developing even in moments I couldn’t feel it. I began to hug their mom tighter and longer. She started smiling again once she got settled into her new place. We got it set up to be just the home she needed. On one of our last nights, she told J and I that she felt so much happier and healthier in her new home and thanked us for helping her change her life for the better. Instant tears, instant relief. Now I think back on that time almost fondly. There are even many parts I miss. I’m incredibly proud of what we accomplished, and I’d do it again for them all. Now I know that I love their mom, and I know she feels love for me as well. I ask myself, what are the chances of all 3 of us having no jobs or leases at that time? That we would be able to give our undivided attention to being there for their mom. Being in the right place at the right time. On accident. Our very own kind of divine intervention.

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Northern Florida hangs

Sunburnt Chinese checkers

part of the Ringling museum

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How Paradise was Lost, pt. 1

August 20, 2020 - November 8, 2020

We set out to Florida with a full tank of gas and a whole lot of nerves. It would be a long drive with many stops along the way. First was near Chicago to pick up R, her presence always adding humor and dramatics, a nice change of pace for our anxious minds. There was power in our trio. After 8 hours, we spent a night in Kentucky to rest and visit with friends. Many cheeses, sausages, and beers were consumed while we lamented the current state of the world and how we could not hug one another when we all clearly needed it so bad. We ranted about our country's leadership and felt a sense of comradery while reminiscing about our past experiences in the music scene. Bright and early, we packed up, found the cat, and set out for the second leg of the drive. This day was a doozy, 12 hours in the car caused a terrible leg pain that I couldn’t shake for weeks. After a campsite cancellation, we scrambled for a place to sleep. We found ourselves in northern Florida, in the wooded dark and humid night. A meal from the gas station was consumed ravenously, and then to rest once more before setting out on the third and final leg of the trip. The long journey instilled a sense of confidence in us. Nothing broke down, we didn't crash the trailer, we still had plenty left in our gas fund. We talked of the next 3 weeks we would be spending together at their mom's- jungle-like campgrounds, exotic beaches, scuba diving adventures. Back when Florida still seemed like paradise.

The first beast we had to tackle was parking the trailer in a very tight squeeze. J does not often show signs of stress during a situation, usually tackling it with a calm demeanor while I have a meltdown. This would be the first time I saw him falter in his collectedness, something I'd learn that parking the trailer can bring out of him, understandably. We came in like a wrecking ball, as Miley would say. Quite literally, we hit the corner of his mom's roof. To set the scene, we were dripping sweat, mosquitos biting, Ballyhoo panting and confused and Boston meowling, while I tried my best at this new role of being the relaxed partner greeting their mother who I had only met once before. Finally parked and unloaded, the dogs introduced, drink in hand, we breathed out a sigh of relief. That sigh of relief would turn into multiple sighs of disbelief, frustration, and exhaustion for the next 2 and a half months.

We all expected a pleasant three-week vacation but instead we uncovered a harsh reality that none of us knew how or were prepared to deal with. It started with ticks. An infestation of them that would illuminate us to the severity of what we walked into. Cockroaches, fleas, ants, hoarding, ER visits, trauma, denial, depression, debt, paranoid neighbors, meth dealing neighbors, a series of car troubles … with the Florida heat as the cherry on top. To go into detail about each obstacle would be a useless revisit of an extremely difficult time. To dwell on it would breed resentment, grief, loss. Instead, we tend to describe it to strangers in quick, glossed over summaries. Florida was no vacation. Florida was a lesson in what happens when problems fester for far too long. Together we warded off several pest infestations, donated and threw away years and years' worth of baggage (literal and figurative), sold a house, and moved their mom into an independent living apartment. It was unexpected and a whirlwind.

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Goodbyes with Dariyan and the forest preserve

Squishing our friends into our trailer

Soaking in our last Midwest summer

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Life in the Driveway, pt 2

August 1, 2020 - August 20, 2020

By the end of the first week, I notice my mother has been emailing me multiple times a day. As if living in her driveway didn’t make me enough of a target for her antics, she chooses to bombard me electronically too. Links from Craigslist and Marketplace for various used items fill my inbox. She uses titles like "check it out" and "hurry look at this." I delete them without opening for the first few days. She starts to send listings for trailers, even though I bought mine only weeks prior. "In case I missed out on better choices", she would let me know. An ad for a used bike is sent to me to pass along to my partner. He has a bike already, but she believes he could use a better one. I make my forages into her house stealthily, to avoid any interactions. Take a shower, use the microwave, grab paper towels- in and out. Just as I'm sneaking out the door I hear "Nik?" I sigh because I know the tone. I brace myself and make my way into the living room where she sits in the dark, illuminated by her laptop screen. "Why haven't you replied to any of my emails?" she asks accusingly. We go round and round and I leave wound up and angry, venting to my partner, lamenting that I live near her again.

When I'm calm and able to zoom out on the situation, I remind myself of what I know. My mother refuses to help me in the way I need, so I refuse to accept the help that she thinks I need. In this way, we both lose but I keep at least a smidge of my sanity. A couple weeks in she stops me in the hall and tells me we need to leave, that she thinks the neighbors are all annoyed at her for allowing a trailer in the driveway. I don’t know why I'm surprised that she is so quick to be rid of us. I'm hurt but also validated. My mother will never help me achieve my goals unless they are in alignment with hers. This I know, this I have been shown repeatedly. But I'm still her daughter and she is my mother, and it stings to be shoved away. To be thought of as unwelcome in my childhood home, where I know the neighbors could care less. It hurts, so I hurt back. We agree to sit down and talk about our exit plan, with my partner there as well. This calms me, he grounds me and doesn't have all the emotional baggage clouding his logic. I write a check for the last of what I owe her, and I know in my heart that this will be the last time we live together.

We meet in the living room. There are tears on my part, yelling on both of ours. We are told we are 'burdens on society.' A week later, after telling this story to our friends, they tell us that should be our new band name. From then on, it becomes a joke between my partner and I. Burdens on society. Sometimes we agree. During our talk I am back to being a teenager, I slip back into my role almost seamlessly. But this time, I'm able to say sorry. For assuming our welcome would be warmer. For not communicating our needs earlier and better. She eventually accepts and agrees that we can stay until midweek to get our affairs in order. In total, we stay almost 3 weeks. I had hoped for a month, but we could never get past our issues that run so deep. When we pull out of the driveway for the last time, I breathe a sigh of relief and my mom probably does too. I am nervous as hell for what is coming, but there's a sense of freedom knowing that I will be responsible for my own mistakes and glory, without my mom's validation or judgment. The road ahead is cleared for growth.

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Repairing water damage to the back wall

Family

Boston learning her surroundings

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Life in the Driveway, pt 1

August 1, 2020 - August 20, 2020

Arriving at my mom's house and unloading our pets and what was left of our belongings felt unnatural. Dumping my most intimate possessions on her doorstep was exposing myself to her in a way I had avoided for some time. These seemingly innocent objects brought our differences front and center. My bags are filthy I am told. Our animals, some of the truest forms of joy to me, are labeled bothersome, inconvenient, dangerous.

After seeing our trailer ("I cannot believe you would choose to live in such a small space") she asks what my style is. Her and my sister are obsessed with whatever rustic-barn-country trend is on Pinterest. I'm confident that my style would be labeled by her as mismatched stoner. Later as I unpack my entire wardrobe into a small cabinet, I ponder her question for myself. Survival, but make it fashion? Clothing that allows for optimal movement while relieving myself in the woods but can be dressed up with the right earrings for a date night. A label holds no meaning, something my mom has never seemed to grasp. If something makes my heart smile then I'll try to keep it in my home, or on my body, whether it matches or not. Again, seemingly innocent questions. The next day she hands me a TJ Maxx bag. Inside is a pillow that reads "home is wherever you park it." I politely decline and she shrugs, not surprised. This is an old song and dance we've done with each other for many years.

I am told that snacks have been hidden from me to save them for my 1.5-year-old nephew. As if the fruit snacks my mother bragged about purchasing for 99 cents with her rebate was something too sacred for me to have access to. I automatically revert to my 12-year-old self, fighting for the last crumb with my siblings. I take what I can but know that my consumption of resources is being closely monitored. One morning she sees me eating a frozen meal that I've seen collecting frost in the way back crevices of her garage freezer for over a year. The stale French toast and greasy sausage sticks instantly become, to her, symbols of my selfishness. How dare I presume to make myself at home in the home I lived in for decades? Don't I have work on the trailer to do?

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The day we brought the Armada home

And the first day it had to be towed away..

Bringing our trailer home!

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A Sense of Direction, pt 2

April 2020 - July 2020

The process of buying a used car was, in short, a big ol' learning experience. We made small, regretful mistakes, but still managed to have some luck on our side. I didn’t want my mother's input even though she desperately wanted to give it. I was aware that she had years of used car buying experience, but I also knew that she would try to fully control the process. I wanted (needed) to learn on my own. The irony of me buying the exact car she owned for years wasn't lost on me. As much as I wanted to forge my own path, I found myself torn between buying the same two cars she drove me around in my childhood. We bought the second car we checked out, sort of on a whim. That day in May I bounced from terrified to excited to confused, all the while feeling constantly pressured. After signing the paperwork and choosing our warranty, we got into our car and I proceeded to have a meltdown. I felt immediate buyer's remorse knowing how much we'd eventually spend after paying our loan off. J calmed me down and reminded me that we were in a pivotal moment and we should be proud of what we did that day! Oh sweet, sweet J. Always reminding us to be present, to celebrate the things we work for, and to spend money without guilt on things that will serve us well. A couple days after bringing our 2010 Nissan Armada home, we took it for its first official ride only to have it break down within the first 15 minutes. My actual worst-case scenario of buying a used vehicle came true faster than I ever imagined. We sat there watching it being towed right back to the dealership, and at least we were able to laugh about our situation. After that, the car went back and forth from the dealership a few more times, each time discovering something else not working correctly. Luckily, all problems were paid for by the dealership since they knew they sold us a lemon. In the end, we got a couple thousand dollars of repair work paid for by them and a whole lot of anxiety. But at least we finally had a tow vehicle.

Next up was finding the right trailer for our Armada to pull. This consisted of scouring the internet for promising deals that were in driving distance, in our price range, and looked like legitimate sales. Neither of us knew the first thing about RVs so naturally I began obsessively researching them. Trying my best to learn about their electrical and plumbing systems, the accessories needed to function in them, maintenance, and upkeep, etc. Except these concepts felt foreign and strange since we didn’t have a trailer yet. Instead, this obsessive research added to my anxiety, and made me lash out at my partner for the simple lack of knowledge either of us possessed. The audacity we had to buy something we knew absolutely nothing about! My negative thought patterns were active throughout the whole process. I knew that I was committed to this lifestyle and would make it happen no matter what, yet I simultaneously told myself and my partner that our attempts were futile, naïve, and would lead to our inevitable downfall. Fear is a hell of trickster. Like true newbies, we bought the first trailer we ever looked at. Knowing what I know now, we inspected it so quickly and not thoroughly that we could have been sold another lemon easily. We got extremely lucky that the trailer was mostly well taken care of, and the person who sold it to us knew so much about it and was willing to help teach us. The weeks of researching and searching for used trailers in a COVID market was stressful, but I felt lucky I was only part-time nannying at the time, so I had the bandwidth for it. Years before, buying a trailer was easy for the buyer. The market was saturated with trailers that were bought and sat mostly once people realized the work it took to use them. Since RVs make it possible to have an isolated, safe way to travel, the whole industry saw a huge boom. That meant that when we found a trailer, we had to act fast. The culmination of this process led to us driving to southern Illinois to buy our 1995 Mallard 19N. On the way, I did some last-minute research about what to look for when checking out a used trailer and proceeded to have a nervous meltdown. J pulled the car over and we fought and yelled out of pure stress and fear. Mostly mine. We finally managed to get it together and even successfully bargained with the seller to get a lower price once we were there. The first time I stepped inside the trailer I was super taken aback by how small it felt. I was unsure if we would be able to make it work but I wanted the process of finding one to end so badly that I pushed through my doubt. At last, we took our maiden voyage towing it back to my mother's driveway. Watching my partner back it up into a weirdly shaped driveway in the dark on the 2nd try was impressive and a huge relief. We did it. We felt the buzz and lightheadedness of having just made a life changing decision together. Now it was time to do some necessary fixes to the trailer and make it ours. A finally, we got rid of 2/3 of our possessions and packed up our apartment in Chicago. I was beyond excited to see the open road again.

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Reading and people watching on the roof

Trying our best to get out to nature

Chicagoland forest trails