60 Beds. Celebrate? Or.....? I'm not sure.

We are on Kangaroo Island, a sliver of land off the Southern Australian coast. To get here, we took a shuttle, a bus, a ferry and then another shuttle. Last night we also slept in our 60th bed in just over seven months. Should we celebrate that achievement? Grieve? I'm just not really sure.  And I'm not exactly clear how I feel about long term rambling.

On the one hand, having slept in 60 beds means we've covered lots of travel territory. Let's see, we've crossed from Chicago to California by car with stops in Colorado (Mesa Verde, Nat. Park), Tucson (Sanguaro Nat. park), and Palm Desert. We've crossed the Atlantic by ship with stops in Normandy, France, Lisbon Portugal, and Amsterdam. We traveled by train, plane and bike to Brussels, Dublin, Ireland's Connemara Coast, Scotland, and Copenhagen and by ship to Norway, Iceland, Shetland Island, Faroe Islands and by land to London and then by plane to NYC. Back in the US, we made stops in Seal Beach, CA, San Juan Islands, WA, Ashland, OR, Crater Lake, OR, Olympic Nat. Park, WA and the Oregon coast. Quite the gap year of travel.

Just as summer was yielding to fall in North America, we set off for Vancouver, BC for a cruise to several Hawaiian Islands (Hawaii, Maui, Oahu) and on to Southern Hemisphere locations such as Tahiti, Bora Bora, North Island of New Zealand and finally Sydney where Spring has taken hold. In less than a week, we'll head to New Zealand to join a bike trip. This is all good. In fact, it is great and we consider ourselves lucky.

When I was working, I was mesmerized by stories, blogs, articles about vagabond 
seniors who had sold their homes, cars, unnecessary stuff and set off with a bag each and an enthusiastic sense of adventure. I deeply envied these folks and their freedom, especially when I battled Chicago's Siberian-style winters. Now I'm sort of one of those vagabond seniors, but on a temporary basis, for we still own a car that's resting in Bend, have stuff stored in Indiana, and have a contract on a house that is about six weeks away from completion.

Despite my freedom, I have mornings when I wake up homesick for my own place. While I might be in a great city like Sydney, I long to slip on my yoga pants (which are stored in some unknown place), stream an American movie, stretch out on the couch (which no hotel room we've stayed in has) and simply hang out. But how silly would it be to "waste" a travel day doing that? At times, I miss down time.

Anyone who knows me and probably every person who stepped into my practice knows my love for the "Cost - Benefit Analysis," which simply stated means for every decision or choice we make there is a cost and a benefit. When we choose something, we let go of something else -- but not without a cost.

Our seven months of "gap-yearing about" has afforded us travel experiences and memories and some great times with family and friends. But it has come at the cost of missing birthday celebrations, family gatherings, conversations with friends, more than a few dental appointments, frequently laundered clothes, and who knows what else that make up the richness and routine of life. At some point in our travels, I saw a t-shirt that boldly exclaimed "You can have it all -- just not all at the same time." I like this thought, though I would amend it to "Many can have it all -- just not all at the same time." For me, it captures the essence of the cost-benefit analysis. It also helps me clarify how I feel about the 60 beds -- and still counting. I can have it all, far-reaching travel, family gatherings, time with friends who are scattered afar, clean clothes, and my own home --  just not all at the same time. 

Celebrate the 60 beds (and counting) it is. Dressed in our clothes of questionable cleanness, we watched a female kangaroo feed while the Joey tucked safely in her pouch intently watched us. Earlier, we witnessed a young male koala attempt to scale a fence, quickly give up, and then dash to the safety of a bushy tree where he indulged our endless photo taking. These adorable marsupials helped us celebrate R's birthday in a special way. Oh, time enough in the future for cleaner clothes, American movies, and a couch and home of our own. For now we'll keep counting those beds.

Relationships and Long Term Travel

     
     I'm in the ship's workout room riding a stationary bike and watching a relationship drama unfold.  A couple, probably in their early to mid-70s, is preparing for a treadmill workout. They select treadmills located side by side; both are wearing iPod head sets so presumably they are screening out each other.  He fusses with one treadmill and then another until he settles on the perfect one. She eyes him suspiciously.
  They begin their treadmill walk, both plugged into their headsets. Within a few minutes, she glares at him and tells him to stop talking. He glares back and says he isn't talking.  Apparently, they can hear each other with the head sets on. They continue walking.
   A few more minutes pass.  This time she thwacks his arm and growls something at him.  He responds "I'm not singing." They both pause for a few seconds, eyes locked in anger, then resume their walking.
   Their mini-relationship drama has captured my attention. I take note that there are at least ten available treadmills; it is not necessary that they position themselves next to each other. Though of course, they believe it is necessary.

  As a therapist, I could generate several interpretations regarding the dynamic this couple is playing out. But I'm not interested in doing that. Instead I'm thinking about a solution to their problem and a common problem most traveling couples have.  I know that if I gently tapped each of them on the shoulder and shared my thoughts, they would likely glare at me. So I keep my wisdom to myself, and they continue their less-than healthy relationship cycle.

     Ready for a little "This is what I've Been Learning and Living"?

     When couples travel long term (long as personally defined) they absolutely need to heed this first rule:
1. Don't spend every moment together!  Absolutely engage in some activities separately and with other people. The gym is the perfect place to take such a break. If this couple had selected workout machines in different parts of the gym, thus putting a little needed distance between them, their gym visit and perhaps the overall trip might have gone better. For heaven's sake, take breaks!

Rule #2 is equally important but tricky for many people to carry out. It is also quite necessary to master if you want Rule #1 to work.

2. Speak up for what you want and need, including some time to yourself. It is not rude or mean to say, "I need some time to myself" or some kind version of that. If you need time alone, tell your partner/spouse/person. I suspect many people worry about offending the other person -- but really, it is kinder to request time alone than to let your frustrations build up to the point you can't stand the other person's singing or talking. Or just can't stand the other person and end up thwacking him in the gym.

In some ways people are a mystery, mostly to themselves.  People are also funny, messy, and inconsistent beings and it can be woefully easy for us to lose perspective on what we are experiencing, even when it is the good stuff. With that said, if rules #1 and #2 seem unattainable, I have another suggestion.

3. Have an internal conversation with yourself (that's right, talk to yourself) and remind yourself that you are on a fabulous trip and that your partner/spouse/person has many good qualities. If you can, go as far listing his/her qualities.

I believe the couple in the ship's gym forgot that they are on a beautiful ship, had already stopped at several Hawaiian islands, Tahiti, and Bora Bora, and were on their way to New Zealand, and then Australia. They have forgotten that they are lucky -- lucky because they can still walk on the treadmill, lucky they can travel, lucky they are alive.  In other words, they both needed to remember the good and appreciate what they have.

But humans are so flawed! R and I have been traveling in various ways for seven months. At times, I certainly forget my own rules. Watching the mini-relationship drama was a good reminder that I am lucky.

     As for the bed count, for a few days we are holding firm at 58 beds but more to come 
because we are almost to Australia and then New Zealand. We are very lucky.

Gap Year Travel -- Repositioning cruises, distance from former life, and what am I learning about myself?

When I was working, I knew nothing about repositioning cruises.  But then why would I?  Spending my limited vacation time at sea for long stretches made little sense. I first read about repositioning cruises on the Home Free Adventures blog. Those folks use such cruises as a mode of transport, a way to travel from point A -- the states -- to point B -- Europe. This system works especially well when one does not have a permanent home. Twice a year, cruise lines need to move their ships from one cruising area to another and often offer temptingly affordable rates to those who want to travel along. Many repositioning itineraries exist but typical cruises are  transatlantic cruises from Florida to Europe with many days at sea while crossing the ocean. R and I took such a cruise in the spring, traveling 15 days from Fort Lauderdale to Amsterdam. We imagined the lengthy cruise would help us both begin the necessary process of distancing from our lives in Chicago. We sort of overlooked the potential for boredom and sameness. On the spring cruise, we spent nine long days at sea, at least five of them on the rather rocky Atlantic. Admittedly, I became restless.

Currently, we are on a 17 day repositioning cruise from Hawaii to Sydney with stops in Tahiti, Bora Bora and the North Island of New Zealand. Prior to our finalizing plans and payment for this cruise, R asked me if I could manage five days at sea at a time (actually we have 11 sea days total) given that I grew restless on the transatlantic cruise.

"Of course I can," I told him.  "I learned a lot on the transatlantic cruise about how to manage sea days. I'll be fine. I've downloaded more books, I'll sign up for activities. It will be great."

      R and I have been together a long time. Soon we'll celebrate 34 years.  As the words were coming out of my mouth, we both understood that I was kinda lying to him and myself, not about the books or activities, but about managing.  My shelf life for the sea is three days. After that point, I grow restless, which is a polite way of saying I get a little bored.

Many people onboard have solved the issue by getting up each morning, eating, and then immediately spending their days sacked out by the pool, only rousing to eat again and drink.  While this system has many merits, it holds no interest for me.

So far, I've read three books, attended daily port and naturalists' lectures, watched evening live entertainment and daytime cooking demonstrations, attended cocktail party-like ship receptions and joined in wine and martini tastings. I've gone to the gym each day, taken spin classes, shown people how to use the gym equipment. I've watched people dance, played trivia, played scrabble, played Angry Birds, played with my iPad and used way too many of my expensive Internet minutes looking up stuff. I've even engaged in too many conversations about my hair, color and cut. We have both bored people who ask where we live with our tale of roaming houselessness. I have run out of things to do that interest me. I need land.

As I've expanded my understanding of retirement and other big transitions, one idea is clear: In retirement, one may have more freedom, fewer restrictions and fewer responsibilities, but our personalities and core preferences don't necessarily change, though perhaps they expand. Most of us will add to our identities as we transition from work to the next phase. But who we are will remain the same.

My gap year is reminding me that I'm someone who likes new experiences, loves learning, and is easily bored by too much sameness. All good to know as I create this next phase. And happily, we have spent a day on Tahiti and out the window, I see land! It is Bora Bora.

This is Bora Bora!
 

Gap Year Travel: Where will we go? How will we travel? All depends.

When people plan for travel, many consult their  "bucket list,"  a list of things they want to do before they, er well, kick the bucket.  I personally dislike the term bucket list, partly because of its reference to death and partly because it reduces lived experiences to a kind of check list. Visit Japan. Check. Visit Australia. Check. Sky dive. Check. To my mind, traveling opens the possibility for rich experiences yet to discover. I like the idea of an experience list instead.

Don't you just love fantasy? In my fantasy world that's how planning would go-- rich experiences first and practical considerations like we need a place to sleep would come much later. But my current reality is far from fantasy. We just sold where we were living and now we need a bed. For the second time this year, we are houseless.

Back story: In between short trips over the summer, we'd been living in our tiny ski condo, really our primary residence, until our scheduled October travel departure date. We'd planned to sell the condo close to the first of the year (once our house is ready) but apparently the urge to divest ourselves of real estate ties, to further untether, proved too strong. That and prices and demand recovered. Untethered we would be and without a reasonable place to sleep. Our home in Chicago sold in four days so of course the condo sold quickly too.

Rich travel experiences?

No. How about where should we sleep for two and a half weeks? For two people who had planned most aspects of their lives, we seemed a little random, even to us.

Since we were already booked on a cruise from Hawaii to French Polynesia and on to Sydney, Australia we thought we'll just add a first leg to the trip -- Vancouver, BC to Hawaii and around the islands. Problem solved. We'd have a bed, plenty of food, an exercise room, and distractions.

And we've lucked out because some rich experiences are in the mix -- tour of the USS Arizona Memorial, cycling to Kilauea volcano, hiking in Maui. Not bad for a random decision.

I believe there is a gap year lesson embedded in this story though I'm not completely clear what it is. Perhaps it is something like......after decades of responsible living, we need a little calculated randomness to help us transition into the next phase.  Off we go.

When you don't have a home, where is home?

In the spring when my gap year with travel began, we were a little uncertain how our plan would go.  Actually, I was uncertain about everything. After our trip to Bend where we signed a contract on a yet-to-be built house with promised delivery for mid-December and deposited a huge check into an escrow account, we still seemed reluctant to claim Bend as our future home. In what I considered a step toward stability I decided  to call the new city home. When asked "Where do you live...? I  planned to answer Bend.

As I moved forward with my plan, I noticed that R still told people we were from Chicago. Often his explanation came with a fairly lengthy description of our travels and rarely mentioned Bend. I guessed that those he spoke to assumed we lived apart.

I found this a little disturbing mostly because I worried that he had forgotten we had moved, together.

"You do know we no longer live in Chicago, right?" I ask in an unusually kind way.

He nodded that he did and agreed he'd start telling people who asked that we lived in Bend. Which was not really true because we weren't living there and wouldn't be there for months and we did not have a home there only an escrow account.  While the anxiety of rootlessness was fogging my mind, I was growing clear about one thing, we were houseless. Now I really felt uncertain about everything and we both hadn't a clue where we lived.

Not long after, R was tested. We flew from LAX to Florida where we would board a ship for a transatlantic crossing followed by six more weeks of travel.  A friendly flight attendant started chatting with us and ultimately asked where we were from. We both paused and I offered up, "No where." Great, I thought, good answer. R said that we are homeless. She looked at us suspiciously. I got it, we did not look homeless even if we both felt that way.  After a brief silence, I explained that we'd sold our Chicago home and would travel for a few months before transitioning to the west.

"I like that plan" she said with a big smile. "That's a great plan." 

"Then where will you live? Los Angeles?"

Bend, Oregon we said, almost in unison. 

"Oh, Bend." Oregon is nice. Rustic, like Seattle."

At that moment, I believe we located home.

Sorting, Packing, and Separating: Here We Go Again

(How Much Stuff Do We Really Need?)

We are packing, again, for our next adventure of two months.  Given how many places we've visited this year, you'd think we'd be packing experts. But we are not, at least not in the emotional responses to packing. Of course, this year we've been pairing packing with selling real estate so that combo tends to up the emotional stakes. No matter what,  
packing for long trips brings out our grouchy, anxious sides. 

It all started in Chicago where for six months we sorted, tossed, packed, cleaned, repaired, and donated our stuff and then repeated the cycle as needed. By the end, all we wanted was to go. Have it over. Move on. Vamoose.

But we had stuff and owning stuff means responsibility -- for the stuff and for the decisions about it, including what to leave and what to keep. If one is traveling for months at a time....the stuff decisions before hand can seem endless.

Beyond that, separating from one's stuff is not easy. Making the toss-keep-store decisions evoke all kinds of competing feelings. For us, the big stuff was stored in the Midwest while we lived elsewhere. It's the smaller stuff that caused issues and questionable decisions. I concerned myself with what to do with my lavender suede heels, the dried decorative sticks purchased at an outlet store, extra hiking boots, our 10 year-old ice chest from Walmart, old off-season clothing, random odd bits of our lives. I wondered where to stash them and yet at the same time wondered why these items mattered. 

We traveled from Chicago to Palm Desert, CA in our SUV packed to the roof with stuff, our bicycles hooked to the back. We looked like modern day members of the Joad family. Our stay in Palm Desert was temporary  for we had months of travel ahead of us. Everything we brought with us could not travel with us. Some of it must stay. We must separate.

Our plan was to travel for several months, first to Bend to house hunt, then to Miami, a cruise ship, Europe, another ship, countless hotels, planes, trains and many places beyond. Our portable stuff was restricted to one carry on bag, one rolling duffle, and one extraordinarily large purse or in R's case over-stuffed backpack -- each.  The airlines have weight and bag limits that we must meet. Plus we'd be toting these babies on and off trains, buses, and who knows what for a long time. They needed to be manageable. It was in Palm Desert that we realized we were attempting to take too much stuff.  While we had separated from our home, city, work, and major stuff, we hadn't fully separated from the belief that we needed much more than we really do. Letting go of such a belief proved challenging.

We repacked our bags in Palm Desert, leaving many items behind. In Bend, we repacked again, filling a tote with more stuff for storage. Throughout the months of travel, we both discarded many more items -- shoes, t-shirts, shirts, blouses, make up. We shedded our extra stuff and discovered that both of us managed nicely with what remained. It seemed we had what we needed.

Now we are packing again. You think we would have learned the lesson of just enough, right? For this current trip, both of us want to sneak just a little bit more into our duffles. Stuff one little corner of our carry ons with one more something.  Are we greedy? Hard to satisfy people?
 Perhaps.

Or is letting go of excess and only holding on to what you really need, keeping just enough, a difficult lesson to really learn?

It Is Not Just About the Dollars: Decision Making Part 2

Obviously, all of us have different ways of reaching decisions.  What we ultimately want is to land comfortably on one side of a debate -- stay or go? Travel or settle down? Delay or get moving? After much internal and external debate, I decided to take the year and transition to a new life and locale.

However, to reach the decision was for me a complicated process.  Once all the practical financial pieces were considered as well as the practical aspects of closing my practice, selling our home and all that, the real work began, the emotional work. I allowed the therapist part of my brain to contemplate the outcome of any decision.  As I visualized the future,  I imagined what it would feel like to cycle for three hours without concern about rushing to my next task, to prepare dinner in a leisurely manner, to travel longer than the typical two weeks. I also started considering my future self, envisioning who I might be in the future.  At various times, I played out different scenarios in my mind, fantasizing what staying two more years in Chicago would look like and feel like. Images of dragging myself through another polar vortex winter with its minus 15 degree temperatures came to mind as did visions of hot, humid summers. I compared those images with what it might feel like to, if the weather or routine got to me, "pick up and go" (a favorite expression of my retired husband). I imagined I would feel free.

But in all honesty, my lived experience also factored into deciding when to make the transition. Life experience is a great teacher and we are lucky if we learn lessons on the first pass. My own mother died of a sudden heart attack at age 55, never having experienced retirement freedom. That early loss was instructive. In more recent years, a beloved brother-in-law passed at age 62 with not much more than a month between diagnosis and death. A much cherished teacher, mentor, clinical consultant and friend died at age 55. We were the same age. Folks my own age were dying, slightly older family members were dying, friends and family members were suddenly challenged by serious illnesses. I understood in a deep way that life is finite, presents without guarantees, should not be taken for granted.  Life is a great teacher. I paid attention to its lessons and landed on the side of now is the time for a transition.