I’ve been on the road now for more than two months with about two weeks and 1,700 miles to go. This is the longest I have been away from home in one stretch in 15 years.
A friend asked me the other day if I felt claustrophobic in my little motorhome. No way! If I were a Chilean miner coming up in that skinny rescue capsule I’d be claustrophobic. Me? I’m as comfortable in my 200-square-foot house as I am in my home near Seattle. I have everything I need. What I don’t need isn’t here. At home, I keep stuff. I stow it in drawers and closets, under the bed, on shelves, in boxes in the garage. Eighty percent of what I have at home I don’t need.
At home, I have enough silverware to serve at least 20 people. My kitchen table seats four. Huh?
The other night I set up my video camera and talked to it about how I feel about living in such a small space. You can watch it below to see what I said, which, without question, will not earn me an Emmy.
Anyway, life on the road is excellent. At home, the only time my house moves is during an earthquake. My RV-home, on the other hand, moves on wheels whenever I want. That’s better than a boring house that just stays in one place over and over and doesn’t even have a steering wheel.
And to those of you who ask, “Well, why do you even have a house?” I say, “I like it, too” (but maybe not quite as much as my mobile house).
