I was just thinking today that for the last 13 years, April 1 has been the signal to start clearing out the closets and pantry and wardrobe, in preparation for moving down the road in the RV, to whatever destination we had decided on for the season. This year is different. We are going nowhere for the first time in over a decade.
Although I have known for months that our RV traveling days are over, yesterday just brought it home to me that we really aren’t going to go. It feels weird, different, almost incomprehensible that we are here in the house to stay. Every morning when I wake up, it still feels strange to be living in a house again. That this huge space with separate rooms, and a bathroom almost as large as the whole RV is ours.
The house isn’t really that big. It is two bedrooms, living room, kitchen-dining room combo. It’s maybe 950 square feet. We have only furnished it with necessities, so it isn’t stuffed full like our last house was. And because of that, it still echoes like an empty house when we walk around in it. It feels so roomy and big and spacious, like a mansion. But even with how big it is compared to the RV we lived in for so long, I feel like I’ve lost something. Maybe it’s my freedom to go wherever I want to go, or the thrill of discovering what’s around the next bend or over the next hill. I’m trying as hard as I can to be happy about staying here. After all, I’ve known since last summer that it was coming.