40 Days | Steve Skojec

The "ReloCubes" Are Packed And Ready To Go.

Final preparations are being made for the move. The “ReloCubes” are all packed and ready to go. We hoped to fill only two and save some bucks, but we wound up filling three. Even with everything we’ve gotten rid of – and believe me, we’ve gotten rid of A LOT – it’s still hard to fit all the belongings of a family of six into three 6′ X 7′ X 8′ shipping containers.

This lady is WAY too happy about moving...

So is this guy.

Last night I had to go out and rip out the remains of our garden so we can get the final yard work taken care of. Having never been here in the summer, I miscalculated the location of sun and shade (we have a lot of old, tall trees) and we wound up with a garden that didn’t get nearly enough sunshine to flourish. With all the rain we got this year, everything grew, but we had minimal fruiting. So I was surprised when I went out and pulled about five pounds of ripe tomatoes and at least ten pounds of green ones. I don’t know that we’ll have the chance to use them, but I saved them in the hopes that we could find someone who would.

The remains of our garden.

We were lucky enough to find a family with five young children who could use most of our food, including the many Asian ingredients we keep in our cupboards. We have to empty out the rest of the fridge today, but trash came this morning, so I hope we got anything we’re not giving away or using out of there already.

We still have odds and ends that have to come out of the house – a desk, several area rugs, couches (being picked up by some college kids), an end table, and a toaster oven. We then have to pack our car, put any remaining free stuff to the curb, and bring some items that we’ve sold or are donating to their respective destinations.

We gave away a lot of stuff for free this time because of our time constraints, but I can’t say it bothers me. It feels good to unencumber ourselves from some of the things we’ve accumulated. Would we use them? Probably. Are we losing money on them? Definitely. But it’s freeing to be rid of them nonetheless.

The final cleaning is scheduled for tomorrow morning, and then we’re officially nomads. We’re hoping to visit people this weekend before we get on the road, and then, if possible, to see some friends on our drive out West. I’m looking forward to the trip – moreso than the destination. I don’t know what I’m going to be doing when I get there, and can’t even claim to have much in the way of expectations. We have a lot to figure out, starting with how long we are going to stay once we get there. If we’re invested for at least a couple of years like I think we will be, it seems sensible to start up a business while we’re there, but that will probably commit us to several more years, which wasn’t really what we had in mind. We’re leaving our lives out here, where we had begun to plant roots – my whole family, most of our friends, our parish, the places we know and love, you name it. And while I’m always up for adventure, we don’t want to get stuck somewhere we really never wanted to be.

But life is giving us lemons, and I intend to make the best damn lemonade on the market. Ironically, when I was a kid, I had an actual lemonade stand, and I loved every minute of it. I learned that I had an entrepreneurial streak, even if it later went dormant. Maybe this metaphorical lemonade that I need to make is exactly the kind of refreshing beverage I need to wake that entrepreneurism back up.

Something tells me my analogy isn’t really working. I think I need caffeine. Actually, I’m sure of it – I’m tired as all heck and it’s time to power my way through the last day at the office. I think a Venti Iced Coffee is in order.

It appears that the great adventure is upon us again.

We had planned to settle down here in Northern Virginia. To plant roots. To stay put, more or less, for the rest of our days.

But God, it seems, had other plans.

Events have unfolded at a furious pace. First, my job security evaporated, right at about the same time I realized, in a panic, that I had more or less plateaued in my industry (barring some unforseen willingness to kiss up and pretend I wanted the life of a PR executive). We were paying our bills, but only just, and as the economy ground to a halt, our depreciating dollars were spread too thin, or, in the incomparable words of Bilbo Baggins, “Like butter scraped over too much bread.” Our house, always cozy, was gradually closing in as we welcomed child number four into the world, and we ran out of corners in which to keep our stuff. We looked for opportunities to buy a small farm, or start a business, or do something to clear a path to the future, but nothing came into view, and times grew more tense.

And then, while my wife was in Arizona attending to some family matters, the seed of an idea began to sprout.

“We may need to consider moving back to help out dad,” she informed me one evening over the phone. “He’s doing too much, and he’s getting too old to do it.”

Characteristically, I resisted. We had both sworn off Arizona forever, after our last attempt at living there had gone to hell. Neither of us liked it there – she having grown up there, and I having lived there on two separate occasions for various reasons – and we were perfectly content back East.

But I did some backroom dealing with the Good Lord, and I told him if it was what He wanted, and what needed to be done, I’d go there no questions asked. Jamie and the kids came home, and I thought no more about it.

But it was only a matter of days before we got the news that her brother had died at the too-young age of 45.

Now, God works in mysterious ways, and I may be the sort who tends to question them (despite what I said before about not doing that) but in the end I always acquiesce. I don’t know why things happened the way they did, but it set in motion a chain of events that has led us to where we are today: packing the house, selling our furniture, and preparing to move in only about two weeks’ time to Tucson, Arizona. More than any other decision in our lives, it seems like a grossly incongruous thing to do. And unlike most other things in our lives, it’s resoundingly clear that this is precisely what we should do.

Fans of Robert Jordan may at times in their lives identify with the phrase, “Death is lighter than a feather; duty heavier than a mountain.” All week, I’ve been repeating that bit of wisdom to myself from the novels I read in my youth.

But while there’s an undeniable reluctance to go, sell all we own, and follow the Oregon Trail (with a slight left turn at Alburquerque), there’s also an oasis in the damned desert: a chance for us to start a business of our own, a make-or-break opportunity to grab the future by the reins and shoot for a better life, even if it isn’t necessarily in a better place. And some day, with a bit of luck and some success, we hope beyond hope that we can come back to the lush, green, civilized places of the world. We’re East Coast people, and this will always be our home.

I don’t know much about what I intend to do with this blog. It’s more of a journal than the sort of commentary I have habitually provided readers over the years. I’ll use it to post photos, to offer updates to the friends and family we leave behind, and to generally tell the story of this latest, unexpected chapter in the great choose-your-own-adventure novel we call “life”.

Stay tuned.