Indoor life mostly cycles between the bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitchen. This triad of influence guided me in the selection of my motorhome, a Jayco Melbourne 24L.

I thoroughly looked at used rigs and found that the most appealing part of the search into a second hand vehicle was finding attractive prices. However, price became subordinate to satisfying three criteria: a dedicated bedroom, a bathroom as close as possible to feeling and functioning like a conventional household bathroom, and a kitchen that would afford me the confidence that I can prepare food equivalent to what that I can prepare in a conventional household kitchen.

Some rigs are efficiently equipped with seating areas that convert to beds. They require preparing the bed for slumber and then dismantling it the following day so that seating can be restored. If efficiency was paramount for me, then a setup wherein the seating converted to the bed would have been fine. But I set my sights on a bonafide bed that would be prepared to receive me when I was ready to hit the hay. When my day is done, I often fall asleep before my head hits the pillow. My rig’s equipment will include a queen sized murphy bed that flips up and converts to a wall when the rig is on the road, and flips down in preparation for the supine nighttime stretch.

The second criterion that I required was a well equipped kitchen with maneuvering space. The sink, the counters, the refrigerator, the range, and functionality of space were all considerations. My rig has a kitchen that gives me confidence that I can prepare dishes on the road that are equivalent to those that I can prepare in my kitchen at home. I was a natural foods retailer for 18 years. My intention then was to connect diet and wellness by providing ingredients that customers could buy to take home and prepare meals from scratch. The energy in a meal prepared from scratch at home stands apart from commercially prepared food. The same applies to food prepared from scratch in one’s kitchen in a rig.

The third criterion that I needed to satisfy was a real bathroom. Some rigs have bathrooms that are “wet rooms” wherein the sink, toilet, and shower are nested together inside the same four walls. Everything gets wet when someone takes a shower. It’s efficient because it lessens space consumption. I wanted an enclosed shower in its own dedicated space, a toilet that stays dry, and a sink that doesn’t share the same space as the shower. The bathroom bookends the day; it’s where it starts and ends, both critical junctures. Occasionally great ideas come to us in the sacred space of a bathroom. Bathrooms come with a privacy guarantees. Private space is a hotbed for freedom of thought. I intend for the bathroom in my rig to be a hospitable environment for my emotions and thoughts.

Once these conditions were satisfied, the rest was gravy. When I’m parked at a campsite, one side of my rig will slide out, expanding my space. The center aisle will become wide enough to practice yoga. The kitchen cabinets have LED lighting underneath so the counters are illuminated for food preparation. When parked, the driver and passenger seats in the cab swivel to face the body of the living space.

I’m queuing up. There are many better deals than the rig I’ve bought. For others, a better deal is a wise choice. There are many more luxurious rigs than the one I’ve bought. Nevertheless, the cycle of indoor life between the bathroom, the kitchen, and the bedroom will continue uninterrupted in my moving abode as I transition from a life in a conventional house to life on the road in the rig that satisfies my three key criteria.

Published by jmlewisjr

Hello. This is Jimmy Lewis. I'm in Memphis, Tennessee. My golden doodle, Lola and I are leaving on a North American tour in May, 2021. We'll be traveling in a 2021 Jayco Melbourne 24L motorhome. We have neither time constraints nor exact destination specifications. We'll spend May in Virginia, North and South Carolina, and then head north through New York, Maryland, Massachusetts and Vermont. If Canadians resume the practice of putting out a welcome mat for Americans, then we'll cross the border.  The seed for this journey began after my wife, Sarla passed away in May, 2020. Sarla was a yogi. An early yoga teacher of hers implored her to "Have what you need, and use what you have." As I prepare to close on the sale of our home on April 30, 2021, I'm deciding what I need based on the likelihood of using what I have. I give some things away without a flicker of feeling. When more meaningful items like the piano I inherited from my parents leave the premises, I feel like I'm saying goodbye to an old friend for the last time. Sarla's death lessened my attachment to the home we had enjoyed for 15 years and life as I knew it. I didn't need and couldn't possibly use a house that could satisfy the needs of a family with four children. I'll no longer experience residence, a concept identified with staying in a specified place, as I've heretofore known it. Life will never be the same, nor do I want to attempt to shape my future into a likeness of what I once knew.   I've set my sights on adventure. I want to be challenged by not knowing who or what I'll meet on the road. The outdoors is one of my default antidotes for stress. Other than my rig, I won't have an indoors base. Whereas others might opt to downsize so that they have the stability of a landing spot, I won't be able to go "home" as I've known it. I'm jazzed about the prospect of being at the whim of the muse, to go where my finger lands on turning pages of the Rand McNally atlas. My dog, Lola is indifferent even though I've been talking to her about the journey every day. She looks quizzically at me when I enthusiastically say we're hitting the road together. I'm confident that she'll do well. We've previously driven together to and from a destination 12 hours from home. She curiously gazed out the window and occasionally snoozed in the passenger seat. She didn't express displeasure about the podcasts and music selection that I chose to entertain and inform me while driving. This trip isn't driven by personal goals. Will I learn more about myself? Will I take advantage of the opportunity to reflect? Will I be lonely? Will I be uneasy? I'm motivated by a curiosity to follow the questions.

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