The change from Sticks-and-Bricks living to RV living is a big one.

For one thing you are cutting down on space.  Way down.
And that’s more that just an inconvenience when trying to pack your TWO best sets of golf clubs into the shower stall.   (Honey, I NEED these!)

Humans judge each other’s worth by the size and splendor of their domicile.  Something we have been doing since we started walking upright.  So you will occasionally encounter people who look down their nose at you, when they discover you live in an RV.

You might even hear the phrase, “Trailer Trash”.

Don’t let it phase you.  There are plenty of better reasons for them to look down their nose at you.

You are playing above their league now.  Because it’s not just a house.  It’s a space ship.  I can have breakfast in the mountains and dinner on the beach.  Can your house do that?  If I get a job in a new city, I don’t even have to pack my things.  Can your house do that?  If I want to go on vacation somewhere I never need a hotel.

RV living is about freedom.  You are no longer a thrall of the stick-house, shackled to the ground by chains of gold.  Yes, make a costume!   Yes, get a code name if you want. (code name is twice as fun if you have a CB radio)

You are an RV adventurer.

I’m no longer Dave-the-mild-mannered-IT-guy-who-always-comes-in-with-dog-hair-all-over-him.

I am TwoDog,  seeker of…shiny…THINGS…and…GLORY…still working on the origin story…

Our culture has lots of RVing heroes.

Names like Han Solo, Malcolm Reynolds, Peter Quill, John Crighton, even the Robinson Family, from Lost In Space:  These heroes are just Interstellar RVers.

And you will find that many of the stereotypes of pulp space heroes are repeated in your real RV experience.

The Millennium Falcon was always just one skinny Wookie-hair away from a hyperdrive meltdown.  Somehow they always patched her back together.  Serenity, was always in some stage of breakdown–and always a mission-critical system.

On spaceships it’s something critical to the plot:  life support, weapons, engines…coffee maker.

On your RV that’s going to be your toilet.
The gift that keeps on giving.   Today, will water stop flowing into it?  Or will water NOT stop flowing into it?  Will it leak?  Or stink?  Or catch on fire?  Or make sounds like a dying animal?  What did my 5-year-old just throw in there?  The toilet never disappoints.  (The real high-end ones can actually malfunction and vacuum-seal your buttocks to the seat, requiring a call to the fire dept…and Facebook…evidently.)

But the toilet is just the beginning (and a good chunk of the middle).

No matter the make or model.    No matter how cheap or expensive.  No matter how spartan or luxurious. RVs are giant pieces of poo.  They are made from the cheapest materials they can slap together and pushed out the door with the hope that the wheels stay on until it gets to the dealer.

This is fine for their intended use–to be used for two weeks per year, and then stored for a monthly fee in an airtight, atmosphere-controlled warehouse.  Repeat until it eventually gets sold off to front your loser son-in-law’s bail money.

But if you are living in it, things are going to fall apart faster.  BUT FEAR NOT –here’s the big secret.  Under the cheap veneer, that RV is nothing but a cracker box, sitting on a truck bed.  You can modify it just like you could a backyard shed..with…wheels.
The anxiety you felt when picking up the screwdriver or the hammer, quickly fades.  As your comfort level grows, you soon realize that the RV is a canvas, and you will start thinking of all kinds of cool projects.  Re-painting, re-furnishing, adding equipment and appliances–the sky’s the limit.

And as soon as you get the toilet fixed, you will start on them…