We're leaving TOMORROW! Maybe! Or maybe not.

Our plan is to leave tomorrow, but we're waiting for a critical Internet-related package, so we may or may not head out then. We've already pushed back one of our campground reservations in Tennessee just in case. We figure we might want to take our time getting there anyway. 

Today was an interesting combination of busyness, fun, and relaxation.

We woke up in the RV, which is currently parked in the driveway. Here's Sam demonstrating how the over-cab bunk is supposed to work:

He loves that space. It's entirely his own and he's excited about organizing it as he sees fit.

We made huge progress in cleaning out our house. Two rooms are entirely empty, a third contains only the items we plan to drop off and store at my parents' house, the kitchen is less of a disaster than it was yesterday, and the family room now houses only the stuff that we haven't moved to the RV yet.

Biscuit freaked out at all the emptiness and spent hours hiding behind the toilet; to make her more comfortable (and bathroom use a little more private), we created a cat fort out of a folding chair and towels:

We finished cleaning out my office and turned in my keys:

And then we had some time for making a delicious dinner and playing Try-To-Spray-Me-With-The-Water-Hose-Good-Luck-I-Have-A-Moldy-Umbrella:

We're in a little bit of hurry-up-and-wait mode, but it's fine. At this point, what's the rush?

Thoughts on jobs, status, and doing something different

Today I taught my second-to-last on-ground class of the semester (or maybe ever? Who knows). I was leading a discussion about how people respond to natural disasters, trying to get my students to consider the economic, political, social, etc. effects of unpredictable, high-impact events like volcanic eruptions.

In one of the scenarios we examined, the (imaginary) owner of an (imaginary) sandwich shop was explaining how a small nearby eruption had hurt his business. Here's a paraphrase of the off-topic discussion that ensued:

Student: Who cares about a sandwich shop? Maybe he should have tried owning a real business.

Me: ...That IS a real business. Think about all of the restaurants and cafes you've been to. Those are all real businesses. This person could have a business degree. Maybe he's making six figures a year. Who knows?

Student: Yeah, but a sandwich shop is just so... sad. That person could have done so many other things with his life.

And then several other people nodded in agreement.

I was flummoxed. To me, owning your own business means creativity, hard work, persistence, frustration, and careful money management. It's a meaningful and important responsibility. I don't approach the cashier at a store and think, "Your life sucks, and that's why you work at a deli."

On the other hand, I could kind of see where they're coming from. When I was in college, I thought I was going to be the most special of the special snowflakes.  I was going to graduate, attend grad school, get a great job that I loved, spend my career moving up in rank and salary, make a difference, change the world, maybe appear on Oprah, and retire with a healthy bank account. Why wouldn't I think that way? That's what everyone tells kids they can and should do. Nobody ever says, "Wouldn't it be so cool if you grew up and made turkey club sandwiches for cranky tourists?"

Just for context, I'm pretty sure most of my students are a little loopy with end-of-semester madness, so I don't want to judge their sleep deprivation-induced commentary too harshly. But it did make me wonder what they'd think if they knew that I'm quitting my job to go live in an RV, homeschool my kid, travel around the country, and not work a 9 to 5 gig. 

My almost-empty office

I feel like people in the United States are obsessed with work and status. Apparently, even my students are obsessed with status, even though they haven't graduated yet and may not be fully aware of just how challenging, stressful, and limited the job market can be. If you're a lawyer, a doctor, a professor, a successful entrepreneur, or an engineer, people automatically assume you're smart, dedicated, and SOMEBODY. If you're 50 years old and bagging groceries at Kroger or pouring coffee at Starbucks, they assume that either you couldn't cut it or you're on your way to something bigger and better.  

(Side story: After I earned my Master's degree, I took time off from school and worked as a Starbucks barista. I was burned out on academia and wanted to have a new experience. On at least two occasions, people who had no idea of my history or personal life took it upon themselves to encourage me to "go back to school" and "make something of myself." "You're still young," one older man said. "You should at least get your college diploma."

I can't recall, but I hope I decafed him for his ignorant commentary.

And yes, baristas do that sometimes - if a customer is a jerk and the all-powerful Starbucks Big Brother isn't watching through the security cameras. Be respectful of the person who wields the caffeination power!)

One of the best places we've called home is Santa Cruz, California, where people truly seem to work to live. Rarely did anyone ever ask us what we did for a living. They seemed more concerned with whether we surfed and how we felt about social issues. Nobody cared whether you earned money at the local pizza parlor or in a fancy office building in San Jose. It just didn't matter, and it was refreshing to have entire conversations in which nobody ever mentioned their career or how they were planning to move up in the world.

I'm tired of the job/work obsession, and I wish that our country would be less focused on that aspect of life. Is it so awful to have a job that's just a job - nothing more? If you're not stressed out, exhausted, and anxious all the time, does that mean you're not earning your keep? Is it so terrible to not want to move up a career ladder or become wealthy and "important" (in quotes because really, even if you think your job is important, is it really that crucial?) 

I'm not saying we should do nothing and mooch off everyone else. I'm certainly not saying that income isn't important! Trent and I do worry about that, and we strategize all the time. I'm just saying that I'm looking forward to exploring what life is like when my life doesn't totally revolve around my job. 

Two months out!

Susanne is your driver for this post.

We're now two months away from our RV departure window. We don't have an exact calendar date in mind because... well, we can be flexible. That's part of nomadic living, so we might as well embrace it from the get-go. Our window is defined by the fact that my job and Sam's school year both finish up at the end of May, and we want to pay rent on our current place only through the end of June at the latest. 

When I'm not busy with teaching, I spend a lot of time trying to wrap my head around leaving academia. Is it the right decision? Yes, but the thing is, it takes years of hard work, focus, and sheer determination to get through a Ph.D. and even more of the same - plus a huge dose of luck - to land a tenure-track job. Walking away from something I was so set on achieving isn't easy. Like many who work in academia, a huge part of my identity has been defined by what I do and my contributions to teaching and research. Moreover, my opinions of myself as a person have often been dictated by my job successes and especially my failures. So yes. This is fairly terrifying, TBH.

My knee-jerk tendency to define who I am by what I do, how good my evaluations are, whether I get the grant I apply for, and how others in my field judge my work has become a problem. Some people can handle all of this with aplomb. I don't. Instead, academia turns me into an anxious, stressed-out, working-too-hard, self-conscious basketcase. In the great words of "Office Space," I don't like that so... I'm not going to do it anymore.

Or to paraphrase a farewell-to-academia blog I read a few months back, I thought it would be one way, it's not what I thought it would be like, I tried it, and it wasn't for me.

Since announcing our plans to RV full time, most people have been incredibly supportive and nonjudgmental. A few people have looked at us quizzically and asked, "...but...what will you do?" I don't necessarily think they're judging us. I think it's an honest question that roughly translates into, "How will you support yourselves financially? How will you create a meaningful life if you don't have a job title that reflects your education and training?"

We addressed the first issue a couple of posts back. In reality, we will both have jobs; they'll just be Internet-based jobs, and mine will be part time. My other job will be to homeschool Sam.

As for meaning, I've spent a lot of time thinking about it lately and jotting down what does and doesn't matter to me. It took awhile, but eventually I came up with the following list of my priorities - the things that give me meaning:

• Cultivating a happy and stable family life
• Having autonomy in my work, and doing work that allows me to be creative and problem solve (that's why I like geology and science in general: it requires creativity and problem solving)
• Finding and participating in adventures
• Challenging myself physically 
• Supporting and inspiring others when and how I can
• Making choices that are environmentally and financially responsible

What doesn't matter to me so much:

• Having a lot of money
• Owning a house that's fixed in one spot (that might change in the future, but right now it's not a priority)
• Having the same job for most of my career

I wish I could add "What other people think" to that second list, but that's not true. I'm a sensitive person and I DO care what other people think. I wish I cared less, and I'm hoping that our nomadic lifestyle will help me place less weight on outside opinions.

A friend posted this cartoon on Facebook the other day and it really hit home: "Creating a life that reflects your values and satisfies your soul is a rare achievement."

That's the big picture I want us to focus on.