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.
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.
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.
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.
..and it rolls on. Glad you are settled and planning and plotting again. Hugs my friend, MaryGo
Thanks for being such a good friend and role model. As for me, nothing has changed and everything has changed. Same camera but different lens. Hugs back at you!
Enjoyed reading your post!
Thanks for reading and for commenting, Linda. I will be following up with some brief stories about some of my neighbors here in the park, like Carlo, for example, who will be celebrating his 101st birthday next week. Carlo is an excellent and avid bowler, scoring consistently above 200. He also golfs every Monday, and plays shuffleboard several times a week. He is full of energy. Then there is Louella, on the other side of us. Louella is 85, also bowls every week and leads an active life outside of the park. She has been observed weed whacking and trimming large shrubs from a ladder. Both Carlo and Louella drive everywhere. And I want to write about all the residents who are in various stages of recovery from debilitating strokes, and who now ride their three-wheeler bicycles out in Florida traffic! There are others who have temporarily lost themselves and then rediscovered how to live. Thanks again for following and being a subscriber. John
Sounds like a great adventure and like you’re having fun.
Sometimes it’s been fun and sometimes it didn’t feel like fun. You have been an inspiration since I first had lunch with you in Buenos Aires. I have always admired your personal courage and positive mental attitude. My life is enriched just knowing you are out there. Thank you for commenting. What country should we meet up in next? (Editorial side note to my readers: Arlean is an amazing octogenarian traveler, writer, editor, and investor)
John,
As always I really enjoy your writings and your mastery of the English language. I am a little older than you and as you mentioned, “I am learning to grow old.” We can’t let the color of our hair or the aches and pains in our bones and muscles point their fingers at the year we were born. We both know people who never thought they would grow old an die. To deny aging is to deny life. I am glad that you are doing well. You still need to right a novel.
Carpe Diem,
Harlan J. Hunter
Oh John…..
Lovely comments about …our park……… You have such a ‘way’ with words…..( of course : )
I’m lol phyically hanging in there myself…an truly … considering a small ‘camper/trailer..so that I CAN ; )
travel to various parks….
Thank you for Blessing ‘all’ of us with your presence…
Carolyn is a beauty…….
Keep on …keeping on ….. !!
The ‘old’ lady writer…….by the ‘tree’ lol lol lol…… : )
Ah, the mystery writer with the secret arboretum; I can only wonder what plots and characters emerge from your lonely sanctuary.
John! So great to read your writing again. Glad you’re doing well. I was worried. Still so many questions. jajaja Keep me in mind for any future web projects and I hope our paths across again someday.
Many thanks for reading to one of the most original characters I have met in South America, or anywhere for that matter. If we live long enough, I have no doubt we will meet again. What do you know about Paraguay? I hate following the herd, and Paraguay doesn’t seem to be on anyone’s radar, which piques my curiosity. The land of the jaguar and the yellow anaconda (that’s the big one) and lots of other creepy, lethal denizens. I read somewhere that the American Bush political dynasty owns a 300,000-acre ranch there. Do you have an Argentine or international driver’s license by any chance?
Paraguay has a mysterious onda, by all accounts, but no one’s told me anything specific or anything that sounded authoritative. Most of what people tell me smells like myth. Speaking of which, I met an extraordinary Paraguayo my first coupla weeks in Buenos Aires. A story for another time after many beers. I don’t have a driver’s license of any origin at this point. Saludos.