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There we sat on the living room couch of a large suburban home in St. Louis, Missouri. The best man in our wedding let us stay in his parent’s house while they visited him in Texas. The timing worked out perfectly. We housesit for them and we park our RV in the driveway and save $30 a night on RV parks.
We spent a long weekend spreading out beyond a mere 29-feet, enjoying the sudden fall temperatures and sitting on their deck with hot cocoa.
We’ve been abundantly blessed with opportunities like this on the road. Kind friends or strangers open their homes to us and give us a glimpse of what we call “normal” life. I put normal in quotations, because it feels abnormal to stay in one place for so long. Anything more three days feels unnatural, like the RV is calling us back to our true home: the Interstate.
After three months on the road, RV travel is normal for us. We are accustomed to frequent zip code changes and ever-changing terrain. We adore this life of travel. It gives us freedom and a nearly limitless lifestyle.
It was sitting on this big, brown couch, scrolling through movies on HBO, an unknown luxury, that Heath and I decided we needed to be a little more daring.
We’ve been fairly diligent to follow our designated route. After all, we’re fighting against a calendar with possible below-freezing weather and seasonal campgrounds. If we don’t get to Boston by mid-October, you’ll find us parking at Wal-Marts trying to learn how the furnace in our RV works.
It makes sense for us to adhere to our schedule, follow our route, and obey our carefully laid plans.
But that’s precisely what we jumped into an RV to escape.
RVing allows us to create our own schedule. We have the privilege to travel nearly anywhere we want, whenever we want.
Sometimes, we forget this.
Sometimes, we are so lost in our comfort. We are lost in our schedule, in following our plans, that we forget that we live in a land of opportunity.
After hours of debate, we stood up from the couch, packed our things, and began driving toward Nashville. It would cost us more money, time, and potentially leave us stranded in the northeast after all the RV parks close. It would mess up our schedule and throw off our groove–but we needed it.
We needed to invite more risk into our lives.
We drove to Nashville not to follow our route, but to follow our quest. For Heath and I, our quest is to be better writers, produce a documentary, and create change in the world. This short trip to Nashville provided opportunities for us to support our friend, Chris Guillebeau, who launched his new book this week called The Happiness of Pursuit. The book’s subtitle, finding the quest that will bring purpose to your life, perfectly defines our trip. By ditching our schedule and driving to Nashville, we could follow our quest and connect with other authors and readers who love dreaming big.
Now that I’m here, writing from a Starbucks, surrounded by southern accents, I can’t believe I ever considered not visiting. I can’t believe I ever considered not living in an RV with my newlywed husband.
Quests are funny that way. When you begin, the obstacles feel insurmountable. You don’t think you’ll ever get there. It won’t fit into your schedule. It’s too big of a goal.
Sometimes, you have to stop looking down, debating the pros and cons, and just make the jump. Follow your quest.