If New Year’s was the commencement of our transitioning out of the house and into the RV, we’re about one-third of the way in.

There is still a lot to do and I fluctuate between doing well and feeling claustrophobic under a suffocating pile of Tasks. But if I’ve planned it well, I’m still on track. And that amazes me.

At the beginning, I made a list of every room that needed sorting, every task that needed attention, every To Do that needed To Doing. Then I looked at my calender and counted the weeks between now and Then (“Then” being “The Big Day”, the day we move). And I divied up the list, a little bit for each week. Six weeks to sort, 2 weeks to sell, one weekend to say goodbye. March 1st: We leave.

And it’s been surprising how well it’s worked. It doesn’t matter what next week holds, I only look at this week. When I’m done, I’m done for the week and I can goof off. If I think of something that needs to be handled, it gets scribbled in this or another week.

Another secret of my “success” comes from FlyLady and was brought back to my attention by Hillary. Putting on shoes in the morning makes all the difference. (So does showering and getting dressed actually. Who knew?)

But that’s all the detail-oriented transitioning. The mental transitioning has been a different sorta beast.

Somewhere along the line – I’m not exactly sure where – I let go of my attachment to our stuff.

I took a great, deep breath and asked myself if every time I see these things, do they make me smile? Does it hold some special meaning, have a real and practical use, or would it be difficult to replace (or even need replacing)? The answer is almost always “No”.

I looked at the boxes sitting in my garage from my decluttering last summer and I can’t for the life of me remember what is in them. I try to recall what is in a particular room and only the truly important things come to mind.

My home has become filled with the inconsequential.

And when I look forward to the possibilities that await us, nothing inconsequential has a place in our journey.

And there it was; that magical place of unattachment to what doesn’t truly matter.

We are starting over. We’re discarding the things that don’t properly represent us – and you’d be surprised how much that is. I’m not sure how I got to this place of feeling so underrepresented in my own home but it hardly matters. I can recognize it for what it is and I’m not going to find myself here again. Those questions will remain my guiding force.

So, we sort. We pack what will be stored and move what will be taken and leave in place all that we will sell (about 95%). And it’s liberating and peaceful. In fact, the further I get the more at peace I feel.

3 weeks and 3 rooms down and this is all that is being stored so far:
some books, photo albums, ornaments and some keepsakes.

Part of the 1% we’re taking on the road:
games, art stuff, movies (in the CD case), sewing and knitting.

Through all this, we’re trying to enjoy what we will truly miss: time spent at the park with our unschooling community, playdates and sleepovers with friends, dinners and afternoons and time with family. We’re also getting through library lists and our book series and the Netflix movie queue and video game goals. And we’re finishing up projects – a childhood dollhouse for my nieces, Zeb’s Lego creations and a business venture of mine.

Some days I’m motivated and accomplishing. Other days (like today) I stay in my pajamas and putter around. Some days it’s surreal; others it’s as if this is normal, everyday life. Everyday has at least a little piece of joy.

Yesterday, while Zeb went to the movies with his Gramma, Justin and I went on a lunch date. We talked about social expectations, the hidden messages we received as children and what we are imparting to our own. We talked about what success really means – both now and on the road – and how we will be below the poverty line. And we talked about what we hope to find on the road. Both of us have the same answer: Ourselves.

And so we created a focus. To question our motives, to remain in the moment, to allow self-discovery to occur. And whether we’re broken down in the middle of nowhere or having a Grand Adventure in the middle of somewhere, we’re going to Allow the moment to impart its wisdom. If we begin to lose our focus, we’ll shift  – shift our actions or shift our perspective – until it meets our intentions again.

We’ve stumbled across the opportunity of a lifetime. It would be heart-breaking to waste it.