Sometimes you have to let the train crash

In theory, when my life is free of conflict, there shouldn't be much to write about. Maybe today is one of those days. I haven't had any arguments, nobody has upset me, I don't think I've upset anyone else (no more than usual, anyway), and mostly everything is going well for me. It seems odd that my perception of how my own life is going is so different from my perception of how life on the planet is going, as if I'm standing on some other planet observing the ongoing implosion of human civilization. It's kind of sad that humans feel compelled to take everything down with us, but nothing is really precious if everything is precious. Stardust comes and goes. 

I have no idea what to think or say about the unfolding human train wreck. We've always been greedy, lustful, ambitious creatures. We've always separated ourselves into predators and prey. We've always felt as if we were the center of the universe. The multiverse. As if there could be no species in the universe more intelligent than us.

Sometimes writing about something helps me understand it, but in this case, the conundrum of why humans seem to hate each other so much is beyond my comprehension. I don't have the energy to try to figure it out. I definitely don't have the energy to hate anyone, no matter how much I might find reasons to do it. I just don't care that much, I guess. 

Maybe this is despondency. Maybe it's denial. Maybe I've finally reached the Zen-like state of detachment from ambition and greed that my mother achieved through dementia. Hm. Maybe this is dementia.

I thought I had a blog topic for today, but I didn't write it down, so of course, I lost it. My ability to remember things fails more than half the time now. I sometimes feel resentful when I hear about people twenty years older than me whose minds are "sharp as a tack." That's the phrase I usually hear. A failing memory is not entirely bad. I've already forgotten my resentment. I don't have the energy to berate myself for my failures. I think I've finally reached the Zen-like state of detachment from . . . wait, did I already say that? 

How do you cope with uncertainty? Do you tell yourself it doesn't matter if you don't know what is going to happen, you can't control it anyway? Do you imagine you are an empty boat on the river of life, going with the flow with faith and trust that everything is unfolding as it should? 

Yeah, me neither.

Usually, it feels better to say, I knew this was going to happen . .  the fatalist's view. Or, how bad could it be? Maybe it won't be as bad as I fear. That's as close to Little Mary Sunshine as I can get. Or, my favorite (Debby Downer): Who cares, it doesn't matter, we're all going to die. 

The universe survived just fine before I existed, and it will go on without me.

I don't like to think of all the suffering that will most likely be coming over the next few years. Knowing humans' ability to whitewash, gaslight, ignore, and avoid, no matter how bad things get socially, environmentally, financially . . . some of us will always be ready to point the finger at someone else and say, it's all your fault. Some of us can't accept that we might be at fault. The pain of admitting our wrongs is worse than the pain of watching everything fall apart. 

So, here's what I believe. 

• All borders separating nations should be abolished. 
• All white people should undergo mandatory abortions.
• People who make a lot of money should be taxed at a higher rate, and the funds should be distributed to lower income people and used to provide infrastructure, safety nets, and services that benefit everyone.
• The climate crisis should be treated as an existential threat. 
• Everyone deserves adequate healthcare, food, and shelter, no matter who they are or where they live. 
• Kids should learn civics in school. 
• The moment they invent a vaccine for stupid, we should all be forced to get it, whether we want it or not. 

Don't hold me to any of this. I won't remember it tomorrow. 

Where do we go from here?

Greetings from sunny Scottsdale. Yes, I'm back in paradise, walking the dog, taking out the trash, and pretending I'm a friend of the family and not the hired help. Am I a guest who happens to get paid $25 a day to feed and walk the dog? Am I just here for dog love? It's a curious conundrum I don't spend much time contemplating. What's the point? It's great to have dog love, and did I mention there's a tub?

Meanwhile, I am getting some writing done. The third book of this trilogy is not obedient. The characters are determined to develop themselves, as if I have nothing to do with their goals and dreams. The plot stopped thickening about thirty pages in. Now it's so thin, it's running off in all directions like the coffee I keep knocking over in my car. Just like the drips of stale coffee, I keep finding loose ends, blind alleys, and pointless panoramas. Who cares if my hero steps in a bucket? Is that necessary? Or is it just a joke that means nothing to anyone but me? 

In the end, I have to write for me. If I don't find it funny and entertaining, then what's the point? I'm not writing to impress anyone. I'm sure not writing to earn money. I'm sad my one and only fan has been contending with the L.A. wildfires. She may not have a house anymore. It's unlikely she will be replacing the previous books she bought from me, let alone buying this new one, if I ever finish it. Still, it's heartwarming to know I once had a fan.

I have a mental map of my life. A gold star proclaims "you are here." The path behind me is unchangeable but blessedly hazy. I remember snapshots of humilations, regrets, and unfulfilled dreams but not much else, not without photos to prompt me. The path in front of me might be predictable, if past performance were actually a predictor of future results. However, if you have ever invested your IRA in small cap funds, you've seen the disclaimer. You may not have read it, assuming the market would always rise, but the warning label is there. Past performance is not a guarantee of future results. You could lose everything. Then again, you could win the lottery. Just because my past trajectory suggests disasters will compound in my future doesn't mean there aren't other possibilities. 

For example, my writing might get discovered by someone who has enough presence to influence others to buy my books. I know it's not likely, especially given that TikTok is on life support and possibly dead. I have a Ph.D. in marketing, after all. The first challenge for any new product, even before being findable, is to generate awareness of its existence. My books are findable, but nobody knows they exist. It stands to reason: Readers have to know about my books before they might consider buying my books. Sadly for me, I am a social media avoider. I'm also an extreme introvert. Therefore, my only hope is magic.

I am not retreating into magic for the next four years, in case you are wondering. I am keeping my options open. I might write postcards, I might submit exhortations to certain politicians to stop being assholes, I might drive my minivan to Washington and sit outside the Capitol Building with a sign. I'm not sure what the sign would say, but the internet will help me find an appropriate meme. With any luck, I'll make the national news, especially if I self-immolate. If I were young, attractive, and persistent, like Greta, no worries. However, I'm old, wrinkled, and tired. Nobody cares. It would take a seriously drastic action to make the front page of the New York Times. I'm not sure self-immolation would actually be newsworthy. Everyone would claim it's AI and Photoshop. Nothing is real anymore, not even self-sacrifice.

Plus, if I did something that final, I'd miss the show that is coming. Like a typical reader, I want to keep turning the pages to see what happens. The ending might be disappointing, maybe a bit bloody, but sometimes it's the plotlines and characters that keep me going. 

Tips for coping with reality

Now that I live in my car, I'm a new person. It's as if all the years of art school, business school, teaching, editing, taking care of my mother are artifacts of someone else's life. Who am I now? That's always a useful question to ask, if you want to do a reset in the here and now. I'm not normally interested in being in the here and now (as if I had a choice), but as a seeker, I always enjoy figuring out how to reframe my current situation so it doesn't make me insane.

I still have moments of surreality. The sordid necessities of living in a vehicle tend to outshout my curiosity about understanding it. Worries such as, do I have enough trash bags, water, wipes, and alcohol take over worries about more esoteric considerations (like who am I? Where did I come from, and how soon can I go back?). Mostly, I've come to accept my strange lifestyle. (I know you are going to say, Carol, shelter solutions exist: you can always share housing, get a [real] job, marry a rich person, win the lottery, move to another country . . . any number of possibilities, so quitcher whining.) I will not give your comment any energy by responding, except to say, where did you come from and how soon can you leave?

I hope vehicle dwelling is temporary, but I know it's real. 

Right now, I'm parked on Bureau of Land Management land outside of the town of Quartzsite. You might wonder, why there, Carol? Thanks for asking. Quartzsite is the winter roost for vanlifers, who drive many miles to escape the snow, ice, and cold rain back at home. The winter gathering started a few days ago and will run through the week. I'm not a very social person, but I do enjoy being around other people who are doing the exact thing I'm doing: living in a vehicle. Some are in fancy motorhomes and travel trailers, some are in posh sprinter vans, many are in minivans, and I even saw one intrepid nomad who lives in her Smart Car. I'm going to stop complaining about my lack of space. Compared to that car, I live in a mansion. 

The main thing I like is that nobody here thinks I'm weird, bad, or wrong. In fact, everyone here supports, applauds, and celebrates this nomadic lifestyle. Some are part-timers, some are full-timers, but we all have one thing in common: We live life on wheels. 

I'm a helping person, so in case you are thinking about downsizing into a home on wheels, here are a few tips. 

• If you use something, put it back right away. Odds are, if you put it down somewhere, you will never find it again. If you lose something, check where it's supposed to be (and check again, no, I mean, really check). If it's not there, check the trash. Check under your blankets. Check the space between your mattress and the wall. If you don't find it, you either dropped it at Walmart or you're sitting on it.
• Resign yourself to the idea that you will buy things repeatedly because (a) you forgot you already bought it or (b) you forgot where you put it. 
• Don't be alarmed if sometimes you just sit there, wondering what to do next. 
• If you cook with a portable gas stove, stand upwind, use a wind screen, and don't spray water on hot olive oil if you want to keep your eyebrows. 
• Give some serious thought to the question, how many pillows do I really need?
• Expect to pay three to four times as much as you should have spent on your build as you come to accept how little you really need to have a healthy useful mobile life. Get used to going to Goodwill. You won't have time or space to sell your castoffs on eBay. 
• Get more trash bags, wipes, and paper towels than you think you could possibly need. You will need them. And dump your trash quickly and often, or be prepared to smell poop all night.

There you have it. My tips on surviving life on wheels. Yes, there are constraints to living in a small space, but the upside is if you don't like where you are, you can drive away. Of course, wherever you go, there you are, but that's a different post.

Hope your new year is off to a good start.

Cheers from the Hellish Handbasket.

The year of no thinking

I'm swearing off thinking for 2025. I know that sounds radical, even impossible, but let me make my case. Before you say, I'm with you, Carol. We humans spend far too much time in our heads, not enough time in our guts and our hearts, I disdainfully disgree. I think thinking and feeling are highly overrated. See, there I go again, thinking. It's a chronic compulsion. I'm sure I've ranted about this before, but seeing as how it's a new year, it seems like it might be time for a recommitment to my goal to stop thinking. 

Thinking often leads to feeling. Not always, but for me, until now, there has been a direct line. Think about something, then go nah, way too hard, or yay, sure to bring happiness . . . in other words, conjuring feelings of pessimism or optimism, somewhere on the scale between. 

Not going there. 2025 will be the year of action. Thinking will be allowed only in the service of making goals and the tasklists to achieve them. Feelings will henceforth refer not to emotions but to physical discomforts like hunger, thirst, fatigue, and urgent bucket needs. 

I'll keep you posted. 

Meanwhile, the journey continues. I won't say the nomadic life is all roses and lollipops, but it has its . . . let's not call them joys, that would be much too close to the emotional hole in the sidewalk. Maybe advantages is a more neutral word. Doesn't quite convey the idea . . . perks, maybe? 

Let's say it's not all good, it's not all bad. On the futile continuum of judging one's lifestyle, its somewhere in the middle. I muddle along from day to day, focused on the basic daily activities of living. I try not to think much about the state of things, internally and externally, except beyond the physical needs previously mentioned. People are not in my control, even when they seem insane to me. Circumstances do not bend to my whim. Weather defies me continuously, too hot, too cold.

I could get angry. I see a lot of angry people. Angry people do unpredictable things, sometimes violent. I can understand, but in this new year, I'm not dwelling on the whats and whys of insanity. It just is, like weather. It happens. Deal with it.

I admit, sometimes it takes some effort to stop thinking and feeling. Today, for example, I felt sadness. The fourth anniversary of my mother's death is next Tuesday. Even though I would not want her back from the dead, I miss her. I wonder what I would say if she asked me how I am. 

When I start to feel things, I get back to basics. Is the sun shining? Can I get solar? Do I need to drive to recharge? These things matter to me. I'm going out to Quartzsite next week to be near other people who would not consider my lifestyle weird or wrong. Before I go, I need to get water, trash bags, food. These things will be hard to find and cost a fortune in the small town of Q, truck stop for motorhomes on the I-10. I'll shop at Walmart. Fry's, probably, to stock up on the basics of my nomad life. It's not bad, it just is.