People who say “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy” must lack decent enemies, haven’t an adequate imagination, or are just lying. If you haven’t wished cancer upon someone who merges at the last minute right in front of you, you’re a liar and I don’t believe you.
So yes, I would totally and without hesitation thrust moving woes not just on my enemies, but people who have slightly inconvenienced me. Just so we’re clear.
Anyway. There I was, my SoCal plans up in flames. How apropos.
A pivot in the dark
We drove into the pitch darkness with only a general understanding of where we were. I’d driven through the neighborhood only a handful of times — in daylight — and believed I kind of knew where I was. I had a feeling the street my Airstream and I bumped along would lead me to a winery with a large parking lot where we could plop ourselves as we figured out next steps. Google Maps confirmed.
The second I parked under the dim glow of street lamps, my brain and body parted ways. The worries, stress and anxiety I had carried for years slid in like Tom Cruise in tighty whities.
I can joke because this happened a month ago.
I had wanted to move to Southern California for ten years. Texas was a bust. It wasn’t just that I didn’t like the state (I despise it), I didn’t like who I was while there.
The road trip out of the Lone Star review state had gone well. I thought I had green flags waving me all the way through with a chorus of applause. My soft landing plan was laid out like a blanket. Then… poof.
I was devastated. I felt lost. I’d been carrying too much for too long without aid. A system failure was more than I could handle. A failure that could’ve been solved with a simple text: “Hey, we don’t have power or the pad in yet, we need a few more days.” Done. That’s all it would’ve taken.
But I didn’t get that. I got a winery parking lot in the middle of the night with animals, an Airstream without power, and no idea where I was to go. Plus recent confirmation I couldn’t rely on others for help.
No hotel was going to take two Shelties, two Texas ranch dogs and a woman clinging to her last fraying strand of sanity. It was too late to drive into a campground, the staff wouldn’t answer phones until regular business hours the following day. I tried that.
When spinning plates crash
My mother was up on deck. I was there in body only. She kept asking me what we should do. I couldn’t answer. I’d been figuring out what to do, making plans, ensuring everyone was taken care of not just for the last six weeks, but for years. I could carry no more.
It was not a good night. Mom had to make plans and arrangements without me, the chief planner and arranger. For context, I tick every box on the eldest daughter syndrome list. But I was (and still am), done. Cooked. Maxed. I needed her to carry me now.
She arranged a stay at a villa, overpriced of course, just down the way from where we were parked. It was dog-friendly for at least my two little Shelties. We also had a great place to park my Airstream that was safe and out of everyone’s way. The cats would remain contained in the trailer as they had been the trip out. The big dogs slept in the truck.
Ideal? No. But everyone was comfortable and safely contained. It’s Southern California. It doesn’t get that cold, even in December. This was the only option I had.
Once everyone was tucked in, we went into the villa. I grabbed a blanket, got in bed then sobbed. This is what happens after carrying too much for too long. I write this not for sympathy but for honesty. My great plan falling apart was the straw that broke me. This wasn’t something I could reason or Pollyanna my way out of, especially not in the moment.
After a quick bite of In-N-Out (hey, it’s open late and “When in Rome”), I tried for some sleep.
…but there’s no place like this
For those who have never been to Southern California, let me say this: don’t go. It will ruin your life. There is probably no place more pleasant and beautiful than Southern California. It is warm, dry, spectacular. Though it felt like my entire life was falling apart (it wasn’t but when you’re nervous system is shot to hell, everything is a tragedy), I was still grateful to finally be where I wanted after years of longing.
It is also an area where everything can be fixed. This includes dead Airstream batteries and a solar system that wasn’t working for an, a the time, unknown reason. I had always intended to just get the Airstream repaired once in SoCal. It is the solar capital of the nation.
Yes, I tried getting trailer help in Texas. I had the hardest time finding anyone with two braincells and a work ethic in rural Texas to check out my trailer. It took me minutes to find qualified help in Southern California.
This will be a recurring theme.
After we walked the dogs through paradise, and my brain came somewhat back online, the mobile repair shop sent a technician out to me so at least SOMETHING would work.
Two hours later, Syrah (my Airstream) had two new lithium ion batteries and working solar. All it took was someone who knew what the hell they were doing (imagine that) and $2300. Viola.
Incidentally men, if you get far enough to get a working inverter and have used all the correct wiring, but your solar panels aren’t drawing power, rather than giving up, consider getting a second qualified opinion. The wiring and components were all there. They were just incorrectly connected. I paid inspectors in Texas to try to figure it out. But again, you really need at least two working braincells to generate a mental spark. The Texas guys I paid apparently didn’t have two to spare.
Pouring money down the drain will also be a recurring theme.
He was also able to give me some good leads on where I could camp with the now fully functional Airstream, having seen all the campsites in the general area. My hiccup was the menagerie, and it still would be for another four weeks. Which I thankfully didn’t know at the time or I might have just blown all my braincells clear out my ears.
With a full day of sunlight, we backtracked, heading into a campground with actual for real RV hookups and water. Not to be confused with nonexistent but promised power of the night before that sent my life into a spiral.
On the next episode of “That sucks but at least it’s warm and pretty” I find my dream property. Bookmark this website like it’s 2007 or follow me on social media for updates.
Side note: I also run a creative consulting studio, Thornback Creative. I help brands with storytelling, positioning and content that resonates. If that sparks something for you, you know where to find me.