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Seven years ago this week, I packed up my life, pointed my motorhome west, and watched the Midwest shrink in my rearview mirror.
My spouse and I pulled into a Tucson RV park, thinking we’d stay a couple of months.
That was before the pandemic. And before the housing crisis. And before we realized that a cheap RV site in the desert was a better fit than the overpriced nightmare of trying to buy a house.
Somehow, I’m still here. And I’m not the only one. This place has a way of holding onto people. Someone even wrote a book about it.
It wasn’t the plan. But it might be the best detour I’ve ever taken.
Goodbye, House. Hello, Freedom.
In 2017, we sold our house and bought a motorhome. Not because we read a minimalist blog and felt inspired, but because we were tired of pretending the life we had made any sense for us.
The house was supposed to be the smart choice. Owning was responsible. Renting was “throwing money away.” At least, that’s what everyone said.
But somewhere between Midwest winters, potlucks full of suspicious casseroles, and a sense that life was just a long checklist of things we weren’t excited about, we realized something.
We didn’t want this.
I can still picture myself staring at the lawn I hated mowing in summer and the driveway I dreaded shoveling in winter. That wasn’t home. It was a long list of chores I didn’t want to keep doing for the next thirty years.
Selling the house wasn’t a crisis. It was a jailbreak.
Living Cheap in the Desert Has Its Perks and Its Oddities
This RV park has been a mixed bag of sunsets and side-eyes.
I’ve seen landscapes that look like they were painted by an overachieving artist trying to flex every color on their palette. And I’ve also had neighbors who made me question whether I’d remember what peace and quiet was like ever again.
But the dirt cheap rent has given us the financial freedom to dig out of debt and live a simpler, more intentional life. It didn’t just fatten our wallets, it saved us from the grind of constantly chasing what everyone said we needed to be happy.
This place gave us room to breathe and rethink what really matters.
I’ve made friends, explored the surreal beauty of the Sonoran Desert, and learned to laugh at the absurdities of life in an ever-changing, semi-chaotic community.
Unlearning Everything I Was Told About Success
What I’ve come to love about this life is how it forced me to unlearn so much of what I thought I had to do to be “successful.”
I was told the LifeScript™ was the answer . Get a degree, buy a house, and climb the corporate ladder.
But following that path left me exhausted, bored, and stuck in a life that didn’t feel like mine.
Living in a motorhome in the desert might not win me any lifetime achievement awards, but I think it’s given me something much better. And that’s the space to figure out what actually makes me happy.
Like sipping coffee as the sun comes up over the Rincón Mountains as I watch the desert wake up, knowing I don’t have to endure a 2-hour commute or shovel snow ever again.
This Life Isn’t Perfect, but It’s the Right One for Me Right Now
I’m not saying this life is perfect. I have days when the neighbor’s barking dog or the endless bingle bang of wind chimes makes me wonder if my motorhome came with a return policy.
But those moments are nothing compared to the peace I’ve found here. It’s unlike anything I felt in the Midwest.
Seven years later, I can confidently say I made the right choice. Not just because I got to escape winter (let’s be real, though , that’s a HUGE perk), but because I trusted my gut and took a chance on an unconventional lifestyle.
If you’re standing on the edge of a big decision and scared out of your damn mind, let me offer you a thought from the department of “been there, done that.”
Sometimes, the scariest leaps lead to the best landings.
Temporary doesn’t always mean fleeting. In my experience, it means settling in and letting the road less traveled lead straight home.
Still Here? You Must Be the Human Equivalent of Well-Seasoned Cast Iron Pan.
Most people tap out early like tourists who underestimate Arizona heat. But not you. You’re built different. So why not pull up a camping chair with us on Substack?
