Tin Can Travels —
What It’s Like To Live, Work, And Play On The Road
(Year-Round, In Less-Than-200-Square Feet)

Home / Tin Can Travels —
What It’s Like To Live, Work, And Play On The Road
(Year-Round, In Less-Than-200-Square Feet)
/ Living In A Tin Can --
A Blog About Live-Work-Travel In Less-Than-200-Square Feet
/ The Road To RVing --
A Big-Ass Leap Of Full-Timing Faith

The Road To RVing —
A Big-Ass Leap Of Full-Timing Faith

A Big-Ass Leap Of Full-Timing Faith -- find out what it takes to make the jump from part-time-vacationer to full-time-RVer (#blogpost #RVlifestyle #RVer #fulltimer #fulltimeRVing #Airstream #glamping #travel #lifeofadventure #homeiswhereyouparkit) at http://ramonacreel.com/2018/02/03/living-in-a-tin-can/leap-of-full-timing-faith/You know the time is right for something to happen when you’re suddenly bomarded with a cascade of fall-from-the-sky-and-land-unexpectedly-in-your-lap opportunities — and this was sure-as-hell the case as I made my decision to hit the road full-time.

(In fact, I ended up with some pretty grody-looking bruises that made folks think I’d either been assaulted or was a pole-dancer.

Thanks-so-much to all the freaking serendipities plummeting down from above and crashing onto my thighs.)

But manifesting the RV-dream is less about magic and more about mindset. I first had to accept deep-in-my-heart-of-hearts that this was the lifestyle I wanted. I asked myself some hard questions — and got 100% certain about what I was prepared to sacrifice (a house, a whole lot of stuff, a stationary community) in order to have what I wanted most (smaller existence, mobility, freedom).

Then comes the point where you need to go big or go home. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been one to make a wishy-washy resolution. (I don’t just commit heart-and-soul. I pledge my mind-mouth-hands-and-feet — even those NSFW naughty bits tossed their tiny pubic hats in that wanderlusty ring.)

So  I created a “vision board” for this prospective mobile lifestyle, and assigned the whole thing a projected launch date three years down the road. (I was trying to be patient, practical, realistic — completely unlike me. And any sooner seemed not-especially-feasible. What a moron!)

Professional-planner-and-anal-retentive-person-that-I-am, I read books and visited dealerships. I did pootloads of research, joined a dozen RV forums, and asked a tremendous number of annoying newbie questions. I told everyone I knew (and a handful that I didn’t) about my bedouin-minus-the-sand plans.

I threw every chip I had as hard as I could toward that pot — all-in, baby.

And that’s when the “be-careful-what-you-wish-for” part snuck up on me.

Once my intentions were clear, this process didn’t just snowball — it frigging avalanched!

In April, I posted a classified, outlining my requirements for a suitable Airstream. (Yes, I’m one of those from-day-one-nothing-will-do-but-a-hip-little-tin-can snobs. Get over it.) In May, I got a call from a lovely lesbian couple who renovated vintage models for a living, and were selling their personal 29-foot Excella.

After seeing so many overpriced-in-terrible-shape-requiring-a-far-greater-investment-of-time-and-money-than-I-was-prepared-to-shell-out P.O.S. rigs, this retro-funky-yet-tastefully-modernized-mechanically-sound-and-priced-less-than-I’d-planned-on-spending rolling home was heaven-sent.

My ladies were thrilled to have their best-beloved become my domicile — I was thrilled to have her swallow me whole and keep me safe in her belly while I traveled. And so my baby girl “Stella” (as they’d for-the-love-of-god named her) was delivered on June second for the low, low price of $15,900.

A new home in under two months, for cheaper than the cost of its companion tow vehicle — holy crap!

The stars had aligned, and my time-frame for becoming a nomad was suddenly given a violent shove forward. I allotted one year to deck Stella out, fit my stuff into less-than-200-square feet, and get all those “disconnecting-from-stationary-life” administrative ducks in a row — then I’d have to put up or shut up.

And I made it — with three days to spare.

Was I an expert on RVing before I took off? Not even close. Did I feel ready for this gigantic life change as I pulled out of the driveway? Sort of. Have I ever regretted the decision for even a split-second. Hells no!

I learned what every full-timer eventually figures out. At some point, you have to jump in with both feet — trusting that your smarts, your rig, and the rest of the community will be there to catch you when you land.

(Good news is, we ain’t dropped nobody yet!)

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    8 Responses

    1. Sarah Rooney says:

      Love your writing style! Yay Stella! We are Airstream lovers too. We’re not full-time yet, but within a year or two… doing some music stuff for the time being.

    2. Wow – you have a plethora of business angles and experience! Good luck on the road; I have a feeling your journey will be everything you’d hoped for. That Airstream deal is smokin’ hot – hope you can share pictures at some point.

    3. Patty Walford says:

      Love this! My partner and I just sold our home of 17 years two weeks ago and are taking the full-timers plunge. Thanks for sharing your adventures!

    4. Gretty says:

      You are hilarious and your writing is authentic! I’ve been fulltime for 3 years with my hubby and little dog. Maybe our paths will cross some day- I’d love to hang out and hear more of your stories.
      I would subscribe if I could!

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