Allowing Guilt to Ruin Good Days – or Not

I wake up most mornings with a start … like I’ve done the past decade feeling like I must hit the ground running. It takes a second for the morning fog to leave my brain … and then I smile. Instead of endless lists running through my mind … there are none. I don’t have to get up. I don’t have to look at the time. I don’t have think about our business, or what time I have to open it. I don’t have to think about bills, employees, schedules or anything!

I roll over to go back to sleep.

Some mornings I sleep again … but other mornings I’m too excited about my new normal and sleep alludes me. Instead I lay there thankful. I smile to myself and to the world. It’s a happy time. If the sun is up (or almost up) I quietly get up, get dressed in the bathroom and step over my sleeping sons to go out the door. As I quietly walk down the two steps to ‘our’ property for the week, I again smile.

I’m living a life that I never dreamed I would.

I’ve always wanted to travel, so maybe I loosely dreamed of it … but I didn’t think it would actually happen. I’m on an almost-year long trip around the country in a motorhome with my husband, Jerry and our three sons (then ages 11, 13 and 15) We sold our business, house and property and at the moment our finances are comfortable enough that neither Jerry or I have to work. As a person with a short attention span and a thirst for new adventures, I’m in my glory … especially because each week I have a new world to explore.

It feels wonderful. And unbelievable. Like I’m living someone else’s life.

Some mornings, I make myself comfortable in a lounge chair after situating it towards the rising sun. I relax in the morning quiet sprinkled with only a few sounds … birds chirping, murmurs from other early-risers and at times, the waves of the ocean nearby.

Other mornings I want to move, so I begin walking. At the larger campgrounds (especially if resort is in their name) workers are often sweeping, washing, watering and more as the sun rises. We greet each other and they’re usually more than willing to give me directions to the perfect running route, along with suggestions for the best cup of coffee or dinner later. If no one is around, I make use of the map that I’ve secured the evening before of the campground and its surrounding area.

I’m always drawn to a path or road that runs to or along water, whether it be a small bubbling creek, a lake, a river or the ocean. If there is no water, I look for a running route with trees. I like the majesty of trees … beautiful, strong and (almost) permanent.

There is nothing like exploring a new area on foot. I feel the contour of the land … uphills, flat areas and downhill slopes all feel different on foot than when in a car. I smell the pine trees, the water or the fragrance of a nearby orchard. I notice the flowers planted around the campground sign and a rabbit’s quick retreat as he hears me coming.

I’ve traded my house and 9 acres for a 40-foot motorhome and no property to call my own. As for living space, I have everything my former house did, only more compact. In less than 300 square feet, there is a bathroom, kitchen, table, couch, a bed, space for air mattresses and even a combination washer/dryer.

It’s all there and it is enough … especially because I have a new neighborhood to explore each week.

When I come back to the campsite after completing a few miles, Jerry is usually up … sometimes sitting in his lawn chair quietly enjoying the early morning. Other times he’s not around, but his shoes are gone and I know he’s enjoying a morning walk somewhere.

I live in a state of gratitude. Jerry and boys have started ignoring my frequent outbursts of I’m so thankful for this opportunity!

But like ants at a picnic, sometimes guilt creeps in. I wonder about our choice to do this. I don’t deserve this wonderful and unique opportunity. Maybe we should have given more money away. Maybe we should have moved to a foreign country and helped others instead of traveling. Maybe we should have … Maybe …

Jerry listens to me … for a time, then he reminds me of the years we worked day and night to make the business work. Of the hours we spent planning, discussing and preparing for this. Of the feeling we both had that this was what we and our boys needed … time to rest, relax and reconnect.

I know he’s right … so I breathe deep, relax and allow myself to really live in the moment. When eating dark chocolate or a fresh summer peach … savoring each bite makes the moment and the memory better. That’s what I try to do on each day of our adventure … whether it’s the unlimited time with the boys, reading, cooking in my small kitchen or planning our next stop.

It is all good.

Well almost all. Changes in life, even wonderful ones, have adjustments. And sometimes 300 square feet isn’t large enough for five of us. Sometimes we drive wrong or argue about what to see next or have three rainy days in a row.

But the sun always shines again … and we eventually arrive at a new beach and there’s hardly anything a day on the beach doesn’t make better.