I realize there’s a lot to take in from the above article about full time RV living by necessity vs. by choice but living in an RV carries with it many of the same liabilities that homeowners and renters in buildings have as well.
Namely, if you can’t pay your rent/mortgage/lease, etc. you will be in violation of the terms of your agreement and out you'll go.
For all intents and purposes, Sophie and I are renters. We rent space, called a “lot” at the privately owned campground where we stay.
The rent I pay, combined with my already-meager living expenses consumes every penny I have coming in. I'm quite proud of being able to accomplish this, given the flat-out challenge it's always been. Throw in a major head trauma, some mild TBIs, four-plus decades of epileptic seizures and an awful mathematical aptitude and you can understand this, too.
I’ve no savings though, on the bright side, my debt level isn’t increasing, either. It’s like the fiduciary version of what I tell Sophie when she’s out in the wild, exercising her prey-driven side: “If you can catch it, you can eat it.”
In other words, when we (meaning me) must decide between paying for extra propane-or, as we recently did, use an electric heater when our propane heater was broken-or buy additional food or toiletries or do laundry or buy a new bag for our mini Shop Vac or any other ancillary need, the item most necessary for survival prevails.
Most people don’t get this, as if renting an apartment or paying a mortgage is somehow better, or less risky. Not so, and I think they know this. For them, I think theirs is a case of blissful ignorance for to acknowledge the similarities is to admit the truth of this.
Homeowners often have the option of taking out a loan against their home, depending on how much they’ve already paid into it, to cover/help cover the cost of a catastrophic loss. Though they'll cover the loss quickly, they'll also forestall the date of repayment, with interest.
A medical emergency, job loss, separation or divorce, and more are such examples of losses that may not be readily recoverable.
While I own my own home outright, I must still cover the cost of gas, insurance, propane and other related costs.
Since I budget down to the penny each month, any inopportune cost becomes catastrophic: Mechanical concerns, e.g. engine, transmission, tires, etc., appliances such as the refrigerator I just needed to replace, and more.
Thankfully, I had a neighbor who had bought a small electric fridge for her mother, who’d planned to put it in her elderly mother’s new house. Her mother went into a nursing home instead, and I gratefully bought it from her, paying her back a little bit each month.
The fridge only cost $80 but it classified as a catastrophic expense for us. That, in itself, is a prime example of how we must forego one thing in order to pay for another.
But ours, like most traditional, brick-and-mortar households I believe, is operating at a deficit. It’s just that Sophie and I are not using credit to pay for unexpected expenses.
The end result is the same, no matter which lifestyle we live: it all must be paid for in the end.
Our scale of economy is what differs, that's all: What I classify as a major expense may be trivial to another person, or perhaps it'd be devastating.
But I know my economic scale is about as low as I can imagine it going. Basic things like washing, for example-shaving, scrubbing my face and upper body, haircuts and more-I do as infrequently as possible.
In fact, I purposely schedule appointments one week apart so that I can both be sure to have a reason to clean myself up a little while also avoid falling into a rut for being unable to do it more. It can, and has happened, and it can be an awful feeling.
As a daily, all-weather bicycle commuter, riding to work in my able-bodied years, I’m no stranger to quick, all-body clean-ups in front of the sink. It’s always been a fact of life for me, and I wouldn’t change a thing.
However, I’m not in the restroom at work, and I really miss my shower, and my laundry machine and some other things we consider “creature comforts.”
But I've long since learned the only creature comfort I need is the one I already have-Sophie, my service dog. She doesn’t mind if I don’t shower every day or even every week, which is good. In anticipation of colder weather and higher propane costs, I’ve severely cut back on running the water heater which, of course, means fewer showers.
You get the idea. Like homeowners and renters and even people in cardboard boxes or tents out on the sidewalk, I sacrifice what I can, where I can in order to live another day.
The howling wolf of fate, however, is always at the door. If the property owners here raise the lot rent by more than ten dollars, for example, I’ll have to find another place to go. It's happened once before, without notice. So, while we’ll have a home, I’ll have no place to park it and we will, in effect, become mobile fugitives, always looking for the next place to park so I can grab some shuteye.
All I want to emphasize is that, like anyone, I’ve got a better bead on my cost of living than on anyone else’s and, just as you likely know of your own budget, I know well what will sink us for a while, and what will put us under for good.
"Living in an RV is not a long-term solution," I’ve read many times over. But life itself isn’t permanent anyway, and many of us have learned to do a great deal more with a great deal less than we ever thought possible.
When it comes down to it, the single greatest assets we have are the ones we love. Though they haven’t an actual dollar value they are priceless just the same.
Anyone who doesn’t understand this as the true measure of wealth will likely never understand what the term “value” truly means beyond that of a supermarket coupon.
Anyone who doesn’t understand this as the true measure of wealth will likely never understand what the term “value” truly means beyond that of a supermarket coupon.
“For better or for worse” are words best recognized as part of our traditional marriage vows, and for good reason. Life’s an adventure, and that very term leaves a great deal of wiggle room for interpretation.
Though we don’t yet know what will constitute an “adventure” as newlyweds, we most certainly know one when we see it. The same is true for life in an RV.
That said, I’m grateful that the life I share with Sophie in our RV is an adventure. And, like the roads we’ve driven and have yet to drive, I’m hoping the speed bumps will be few.
However, for better or for worse, we’ll avoid as many of them as possible and the rest we’ll navigate as best we can. It’s a metaphor for life, and the literal measure of ours. And so we go!
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