Traveling without a destination
2018 was a year of plateau management for me. It’s what you do when you start to question whether the destination you have been pursuing is going to be worth the effort, or if, when you arrive, you will have an “and this is it??” moment. Those times when you realize it’s been a while since you checked your internal compass, something reminds you that life is short, and is this really what you want to be doing right now. If life is a cruise, sometimes you need to reposition the ship. That means getting back to a familiar starting point, regaining your bearings, removing barnacles on the hull, and sometimes without taking on any new passengers. That’s what I did last year, and I thought it was a mistake to write about the experience, as if the usual destinations were all that mattered. I changed my mind. I’d like to tell you a little about my year in dry dock. It has been a vivid reminder not to mistake motion for progress, and that there is value in accepting the stages in the lifespan of every vessel.
In early 2018, after returning from a half year in Argentina, I partnered with my friend Carolyn in the purchase and rehab of a 32-foot, class C RV, with the intent of touring parts of continental North America, with a 55+ RV resort in Florida as a home base to return to. Neither of us knew anything of consequence about RVs and RV living. It made sense to us to start small and inexpensively and learn as we went. As it turned out, that was a very wise decision. We learned a lot more than just about RVs. We found a delightful park with a small lake, lots of birds, a few alligators, a library, heated outside swimming pool, organized pool volleyball, billiard room, shuffleboard and bocce ball courts, and coin-operated laundry that was less than half the cost of others nearby.
The RV park includes this lake with lots of fish and alligators. You throw the fish back in, and swimming is strongly discouraged for the most obvious of reasons. The best time to spot the alligators is at night. Their eyes shine brightly in a strong flashlight beam.
More important than all of this, however, we found ourselves surrounded by an amazing support group of retired professionals and tradespeople who knew all about RVs and recreational motorcoaches. No matter what challenges we faced with our new acquisition, we never lacked for good advice on the cheapest, most effective solutions to everything. Small things like a sweater catching fire because it was too close to a heating element, or figuring out why the waste tanks were overflowing, or how to cook with only 35 amp service, or making sure the propane systems weren’t leaking, or what to do about the massive leaking around the windows during the first hard rain.
Even though some of the motorcoaches in the park cost a cool $300-$400,000, everyone is budget conscious. The bigger the coach, the more expensive the repairs. None of the vehicles and permanent residences are considered investments. They are part of a lifestyle, and they change hands in brisk trade. Insiders rarely buy coaches from dealers, but wait for surviving widows who don’t know how to drive the rigs their husbands always drove for them to sell, usually at heavily discounted rates. They really have no use for the motorcoach any more, aren’t likely to travel alone, the lot rent is a cash drain, and coaches that sit too long develop problems. Many of the RVers purchase a motorcoach for a time or reason, and when they have seen what they wanted to see, the resell their vehicle and move on with the rest of their life. Most of them are more into experiences than stuff. They are an odd combination of relaxed and purposeful.
The official rates of RV repair services are often in the neighborhood of $100/hour, but our neighbors in the park chipped in and helped for either free or absurdly discounted rates, like the time a retired Master Electrician worked for two hours on our issues, and his bill was $25.00. We learned a lot about neighborhood generosity and random acts of kindness.
High season at 55+ RV resort parks. Some residents are snowbirds who divide their time between two seasonal homes. Others live here permanently and continue to work into very old age. Some are permanent RVers, who move to new locations every few weeks or months. And a few have been retired for almost half a century!
Florida is often referred to as ‘God’s Waiting Room’ because there are so many seniors in the state. We arrived in offseason when there were maybe 150 residents in the park. Now at high season, the population of the park has swelled to about 1,000, mostly snowbirds. That’s a lot of old people. Living in a “55 and over” park is like being plunged into a laboratory petri dish to experience the life cycle of a paramecium in real time. It is a good place to learn how to be old. There are ten streets in the park, and in high season they are densely occupied. Every morning there are seniors power walking, or biking, and everyone waves. Almost no one discusses politics. The civility here is real, and not political correctness pretending to be manners. In six months here, I have yet to see anyone under the influence of either drugs or alcohol. If it happens, they hide it well. There are bands that perform, some better than others. One night I heard the worst off-key rendition of the country/western song Almost Persuaded. It almost brought tears to my eyes. They tried really hard. I have heard rumors that we have a local drug dealer, but if that’s true, he’s probably an octogenarian too. A few years ago there was purportedly a beautiful but mentally ill woman who had a penchant for going naked in the park, but we missed all that action.
I am somewhat of an imposter because I am a pretend-retiree. I will soon be 70 years old. My father died unexpectedly at 71 and my mother is 93 this year. For about ten years or so I considered myself to be late middle-aged. I don’t really know what comes after that–maybe early old age. Somewhere ahead is middle-old age, and then, if I live that long, very old age. This is the time in life when our past catches up with us, when we pay for our sins–too many steaks or too many bowls of ice cream, or too many hours in front of the TV. Or it could be emotional: too many grudges savored, too much alcohol consumed, or too many years living in a world of perceived scarcity rather than abundance.
I have met a few here who are angry or bitter or both; probably more disappointed with life and their choices than anything else. They are the ones who complain, usually rather loudly, or suffer from an exaggerated sense of class distinction they are at pains to point out to any within hearing distance. Yes, there are village politics, and there are rank and status-seeking even among volunteers. Feelings get hurt, and grudges are kept. Some as they age evince more hypochondria, increasingly anxious about the first sign of the approaching end of life. The happiest seem to be those most engaged with activities and interactions with others, or those who have found ways to safely satisfy their status and power needs, albeit at a small scale. There are cliques and queen-of-the-herd syndrome and petty power struggles. There are those bitter about their grown children, and those who are probably overinvolved in their children’s lives to the point of micro-managing them, and others who have no children and have never been married. There are those who fear the end, and those who are deeply grateful for the rich lives they have lived. And most of all, there are lots and lots here who are still living it to the fullest extent possible. They joke about being old but they don’t really believe it.
The shuffleboard courts, with the Fire Pit in the near distance, and the lake fountain in the far distance. The social amenities are endless for those with time to fill.
This then is our home base. I have switched from Original Medicare to a local Advantage Plan which will save me money and provide better service. I am so thrilled with the difference, I am starting a small business, obtaining a license to sell the product to seniors. We have made new friends, and are busier than ever, mostly with things and activities outside of the park. Although the games and sports available here in the park have their allure, I am not interested in pursuing a PhD in shuffleboard studies. Neither of us are interested in practicing old age, and we prefer the company of those who keep themselves physically and intellectually challenged. It is a good thing to be a little afraid, to keep an edge, to remain sharp. In the end, it’s not about the destination at all, nor is it about keeping score of where we’ve been. Most of life and its attendant memories were created between destinations, the plotting and pursuing new adventures. We are researching a second business model, selling discounted cruises. No matter what, soon it will be time to embark again, leave port, and embrace the unknown. It’s been a good year.
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