Life in an RV Trailer

When I started this blog, it was to find a way to connect with my wife, while we were apart.  At the time, she was living in Missouri, working on her PhD, and I was stuck alone in Bryan, Texas.  I had been having a hard time finding a job in Missouri, so I satisfied myself by working as a software developer for Brazos County.  In order to save money (although it was really so my wife could live in the lap of luxury), I decided to move into an RV trailer in a trailer park on the edge of town.

The trailer park was located next to a goat farm, so every morning, I was woken up by the sounds of goats eating the tree next to my trailer.  That’s right, eating the tree.  One morning, I came out to find one goat standing on the back of another, so he could reach the higher branches.  But I digress…

The experience wasn’t all bad.  Okay, I’m lying, the experience was all bad.  Everything about living in a trailer is smaller.  The living room/kitchen/dining room/office was a single room and was still only about eight feet wide.  I could almost put my feet on one side and touch the other.  The bed was only about five feet long maybe, so my legs hung off the end of it every night.  Oh, and the bathroom!  The shower was so short that you had to bow your head to keep from hitting it on the ceiling.  For some strange reason, they didn’t put the nozzle at the top of the wall, so it ended up hitting me in the chest, so I had to bend almost in half to wash my hair every morning.  The toilet was so small that I couldn’t do both of my businesses at the same time.  So, there was a weird pelvic dance that took place as I alternated immediate needs.  Sometimes I was too tired to perform the dance and just peed in the shower, which was crammed up against my knees.

My favorite part, though, was the propane tanks [sarcasm implied].  The stove, hot-water heater, and A/C heater all ran off of propane, and I had no way of knowing when it would run out.  So, there were mornings in the middle of winter when I’d wake up to find the trailer at 35 degrees.  There were the showers that turned ice cold right in the middle, followed by blood-curdling screaming.  And the chili that ended up half-cooked as it heated up on the stove.

Also, for some reason, the lawn mower guy kept tearing up my sewer hose with the weed-eater.  Nobody else’s, just mine.  I never met the man, so I’m pretty sure I didn’t do anything to him personally, but he seemed to have it out for me.  I went through four sewer hoses over the course of a year.

But the worst part, by far, was the solitude.  It was so lonely.  I dreaded going home every night, because at least at work, I had people to talk to.  All that awaited me at home was hours of job searching, half-cooked Frito pie, and a bed made for dwarves.  And if that wasn’t bad enough, that year and a half apart from my wife nearly broke up my marriage.  It was by far one of the lowest parts of my life.

And yet…God found a way to talk to me more and show me more of life during that time than ever before.  Without the distractions of life and the nonsense that we strive for, I was able to see things clearly.  I was able to have my weird thoughts, take in the overlooked moments, and appreciate all the things that everyone else takes for granted.  I would never want to live in an RV trailer again, but it makes the life I have now all the more sweeter because I did.