The Mortgage Crisis

People think I'm crazy for living in an RV. I will give them that -- it is crazy to live in 200 square feet of total space. But when I look at my mortgage statements for my house that I am renting out, I realize that I'm not actually the crazy one.

I bought my house in 2006 for an undisclosed amount. It's 2014, a full eight years later. I looked at my mortgage statement the other day, and even though my mortgage is a 30 year-fixed traditional mortgage (not interest only or any of the other scams out there) with a reputable company, I have only paid off $20,000 of the total amount I paid.

$20,000 sounds great, but after eight years? Even with the equity that the local housing market has picked up lately, I still might only have $40,000 in gross equity if I am lucky. If I sold it tomorrow, once sellers fees and capital gains taxes were taken out, that number would be significantly less.

After eight years of ownership, I own ten percent of my property.

I should be thankful for what I do have here -- most pay rent, like the folks renting my house now, and walk away with nothing, so I'm doing better than nothing. But where is all this money going?

My mortgage costs alone are around $11,500 per year, not including HOA and insurance payments. When mortgage rates were over 6%, I was paying more like $14,000 per year in mortgage alone. Over the last eight years, I have paid somewhere on the order of $105,000 in mortgage payments alone.

If the numbers made you tune out, the summary is that I have paid around $105,000 in mortgage payments in the last eight years, but I have only paid off $20,000 of the total cost of the house.

When I think about my choice to live in an RV, I realize it's crazy, but what's more crazy is the huge dollar amounts that go into housing costs and how little is ours. Is owning really "owning"? Who actually owns the house when you pay $105,000 and only get $20,000 of that over eight years? The answer is: Not you.

I currently live in a way that most can't, won't, or don't even want to admit exists. But am I the crazy one for wanting to save more of my money while I'm young and free? Are people who pay and pay and pay with nothing in return the sane one's? Or is everyone living in a van down by the river and they just don't know it? It appears to me that everyone is in worse shape than I'm in, but the facade of the American lifestyle has them believing that they're actually making it and doing well. I'm afraid steep rents and mortgages that don't amortize in a reasonable amount of time are the new form of slavery. I will inevitably have to give into slavery again in the future, but no sooner than I absolutely have to.

Life Lesson # 11,437

If life lessons happened every day, I have had over 11,000 opportunities to learn something new. So many of these daily life lessons appear to be cyclical and recurring. The one I have been encountering over and over lately is this: You can do everything right and still fail.

There appears to be a pervasive cultural myth that there is a "right" or a "wrong" way to do things. It motivates us to behave a certain way in order to get to a desired end. It is difficult to comprehend that if you truly do everything right that failure is even a possibility. Something tiny, unseen, or just misaligned makes the world appear fragile.

The fragility in the world is what I sometimes run into. Living in an RV year around, I have a keen connection to the fragility of the world around me. The freezing temperature of water is one example -- we are dependent on water that is kept above 32 degrees Fahrenheit, yet much of the U.S. freezes every night for much of the year. Life is fragile, but so are all of the systems around us.

Doing everything right is relative, but as it applies to life lessons, the trick is to keep all water flowing at above that 32 degree minimum. So many things can happen to restrict, stop, or divert the flow of liquid water. So many things can happen in the way our lives work to do the same with our life systems.

Relationships, jobs, school -- all of it is water. The trick is to keep all pipes warm and flowing. After applying to numerous full-time positions, networking for the right relationships, and building my identity for resilience and thoughtful living, I have found that I can still fail.

There was a time in my life when I thought that if I structured everything rigidly and followed the path of least resistance, I would succeed. I did -- I am succeeding -- but I am also failing. The life lesson is that every success is simultaneously a failure of something else. There are no right ways or true successes. There are only trade offs for success in one space for the sacrifice of another space.

My professional work experience brought relative success. I got out of college, landed a job before I graduated, and continued to work that job for a decade before I finally quit. In the meantime, I lost sight of what personal fulfillment was, the art of living a good life, and of how to be free from debt and the depression of captivity.

Right now, I can sleep until 9 AM every day if I want to, apply for jobs until my fingers go numb from typing, and I can still fail. I can flaunt my fancy resume with my fancy job history and my nearly four college degrees, and be sloughed out of every pile of applicants on count of being "overqualified" or even "under-qualified." I can be the most loving, attentive, generous, and caring boyfriend in the world and still be discarded like garbage. I can preemptively replace car parts and take special care of all of my vehicle systems and still have a car break down on part of a faulty part.

The life lesson is not just that one can do everything right and still fail, but that for every failure, there is a success. The success is that for every job that I am not selected for, every girl who is skeptical of my RV lifestyle, and for every car part that fails, I am able to get back up, brush myself off, and come back stronger than before. For every negative life lesson, there is a positive one -- we can only choose which lesson to focus on. For every action, there is an equal or opposite reaction.

Job Interview Culture

Can I call job interviewing a “culture”? Why not; Everything else is a culture these days. After being on interview committees for my current temporary job and preparing myself for professional interviews, I have come to view the process with skepticism and disdain. There are few processes that are as poisonous as job interviews, at least in the way they appear to be approached by most.

The toxic environment of job interviews and the culture that surrounds the creation of the environment appears to be born from false assumptions, establishment of hierarchy, and intimidation. While the job interviews that I have contributed to running have been placed in casual contexts in casual clothing with an intentionally upbeat vibe, I have guttural reactions to the modes and ways others approach the interview process and the interviewer position.

The first point in a long list that will not be covered here is choice of questions. There are pre-made lists to choose questions from, professionally phrased questions that sound good to some, and functional questions that help isolate a candidate’s competency for a particular role. After seeing the way some think of and their motivations behind asking certain questions, I have come to absolutely detest questions that specifically seek a falsified response. I am talking about questions that will almost certainly result in a lie. The problem does not arise from pushing someone to lie – that can be very valuable – the problem lies in not knowing that the question you’re asking is going to illicit a bold faced lie.

Here’s an example of the above: “Will you be happy entering data 20 hours per week from data sheets gathered in the field?” The applicant has three options here: 1) Realize that this is an asinine question and challenge it, 2) Tell the absolute truth, or 3) Lie their face off and tell the interviewer what they want to hear. Options 1 and 2 will almost certainly eliminate the candidate. Option 3 will likely get a passing answer. Congratulations; You have just witnessed a bold faced lie from your potential employee and you likely had no idea they were lying. Instead, you lapped it up and called it a “professional” answer. Given a spectrum of happiness where nails on a chalk board is unhappy and eating gelato on a summer day is super happy, does entering data 20 hours a week EVER fall nearer to eating gelato on a summer day than to nails on a chalk board? Absolutely not. If you want to see how someone lies, ask them a question like this.

The second point will be questions that just aren’t your business. Like the question above. Someone’s projected happiness when talking about a job isn’t relevant. Sure, it’s good to know if someone is going to hate their life if they accept this job, but it can be assumed that by applying to a job, the person has implicitly admitted and accepted that they are willing to do the job, regardless of their happiness. At certain levels, it is important to know if someone will be happy working 60-80 hours per week instead of 40 doing executive work, but asking someone if they will be happy doing certain other jobs is… none of your business and instead triggers a lie.

My third point about job interview culture is that it is based on establishment of hierarchy throughout the entire process. Not only is the interview committee in a position of power, inherently, by offering a job to begin with, but those on the interview committee get to circle, sniff butts without consequence to them (all new candidates are easily replaceable), and bite at will. The interviewee is in a position lacking power and ability to answer honestly without consequence, even on questions that are irrelevant to their willingness to do a job and do it well. The establishment of hierarchy is built into the process as a gateway into a job and it comes by the way people in the room orient themselves in relation to the candidate, the way each member presents themselves, and the way in which comfort or discomfort is manifested through body language, spoken language, and choices of questions.

I guess my final point for this medium on this topic is the intimidation factor. Born from questions that make you lie, aren’t your business, are irrelevant to the job itself, and the way an interview committee establishes hierarchy either over or in partnership with their candidate, intimidation is a part of interviews and it gains little. Of course nobody wants someone who can’t handle a little intimidation on the job, but intimidating someone in the cockamamie environment and culture of job interviews will not get the needed information about how someone will work in a group. Instead, it shows how well a person can fleece you, kiss your ass, and handle superficial presentation of themselves. It is unfortunate that some interviewers cultivate an intimidating interview environment when it isn’t called for.

Strangely, this all came out of being on interview committees for new employees. I was an interviewer, not an interviewee. What I realized is that many interviewers do not take into account the context of the job being applied for, the nature of some question styles as lie creators, and the fact that some questions are irrelevant to hiring someone who can do a job and do it well. Will someone be happy doing data entry 20 hours per week? Sure, it might not make them want to bleed out in a public place, but when compared with walking barefoot on the Italian coastline, the answer is a resounding no.

The typical American culture of job interviewing is not only broken, it’s preposterous. Screening applicants for a job needs to come from an understanding for the context of the job, whether the candidate will do the job well, and whether the person will be a good fit for the group culture.  Finding answers to these questions will not come out of a typical job interview. Instead, interviewers trigger a lot of lies, canned ass kissing, and irrelevant details for finding good candidates. Instead of asking, “Will you be happy doing data entry 20 hours per week?” tell the candidate the job overview in simple, understandable terms, then let them process it as part of their decision-making process to select or reject the job after the interview. Then show interest in their history as it applies for the job, look for lies on their resume, and have a human conversation with them. Ask them what their favorite color is, what made them choose their college degree, what they like to do in their free time, and what they hope to gain from this position.

Be human and allow potential candidates to be human, too. Posturing, false pretenses, and traditional professionalism are a disease of prior generations and it is time to abandon them.

Confessions of a Van Dweller, Act 1

Any poor soul who has been following along knows that I'm in my early 30's. They  also know that I abandoned a successful career at the age of 28 to attend graduate school. They may also know that I left a luxury townhome in a nice community along Colorado's highly-coveted Front Range to get my master's degree and to save money by living more minimally while still young and single. Why would anyone in their right mind do such a thing? One answer might be very surprising. 

When I abandoned my old life, I was looking to find knowledge and to reset my career with more education in my line of work. I was looking to better myself and to set a new career potential for myself with more education. My hypothesis was that I would start about where I left off once I finished school and would then have fewer impenetrable ceilings above me preventing my ascent into even better jobs. 

A dirty secret is that I don't really care for "jobs" -- a place you go to do tasks for someone else's vision for money so you can eat food, have a roof over your head, and drive a car. Jobs, in the rawest form don't interest me. But I don't have a choice, really. I wasn't born into money, so my post-child life has been largely dominated by... jobs.

In contemplating jobs, I realized that when you look at the system of the American life, we work jobs to pay off debts that we had no real choice in taking on, and the debt becomes the motivation to keep working. Hobson's Choice is where you are offered two options and one option isn't viable at all, meaning that you have been offered only one choice. For example, you can either choose to work and pay off the debt, or you can be homeless and/or die. Yikes. 

This line of thinking permeated my 20's. I realized that the house I lived in made it so I had no chance of escaping debt. Rent prices made me realize that rents are just unpayable debts. Then I realized that I couldn't bear to continue the organismic lifecycle of humanity by bringing another me into the world. I couldn't bring myself to consider bringing a new consciousness into a system where we are all enslaved by default of our existence. 

Like a captive panda, I couldn't bear the thought of having kids. Other panda's might handle the system better -- of course they are more successful. But then I realized that I could establish myself in this system even better, but it would require extreme action. I realized that if I could shift my financial system and potential, maybe I could live in a stable system where I did not feel enslaved by debt. 

The confession is that one of my reasons for abandoing my old life to live in an RV is so I could potentially have a family someday. Having a family is a relatively easy task, but since I can't seem to ignore debt and especially of the three-decade variety, I wanted to have a family on terms where I wasn't a slave to debt and neither were they.

It may be counterintuitive that one would live in an RV in order to eventually have a family. And it's not that I want a family or just any family; I want to have a family where I am not living day to day under complete financial oppression and having to work so much that I can't be there for my imaginary kids and imaginary wife. I set out to abandon everything and reset my system so I could provide something better, safer, and more complete. I was seeking liberation from captivity. 

A Thought I Keep Quiet

Of all the strange responses I run into when I reveal my living situation to someone, some of them bother me and others don't. Regardless of the response, one thing I keep close and relatively quiet is how much I like my house and my freedom. The ridiculous stereotypes and bold-faced discrimination that I've encountered doesn't change my feeling about my rolling home -- I love living in it.

The most difficult thing about living in the RV is overcoming social stereotypes. It wears on me sometimes. People who live in vehicles, RV's, or mobile homes are often lumped in with those with criminal intent, or self-induced poverty, or homelessness. The reason I do it is because I knew I was entering a rough, transitory period of my life by going into grad school and cutting my yearly pay my more than 60%.

My life plan changed significantly two years ago when I decided to abandon a decade-long career with a paycheck that exceeded that of the average American household and a luxury townhome in suburbia. I went from an image of "success" to something else, which has revealed some interesting things about society and the American mind.

The dissonance I experience exists between the fact that I have only become more educated and have greater potential to excel in the workplace, yet I am treated and viewed differently than I was before. Even though I was unhappy in my past life, my happiness and contentment with living in an RV is irrelevant to external eyes. Those looking in don't care how good a person is, how happy they are, and how much potential they have --- they care about how someone appears to fit their mold for how the world should work.

Regardless, I go home at night and even when things are broken (say, frozen pipes), I thoroughly enjoy the simplicity and peace my lifestyle brings. I own the roof over my head and can move wherever I want at the drop of a hat -- I don't have a lease that locks me down. Maybe that's what scares some people? But as a post-grad-graduate, this plan couldn't have been better. I have no idea where my next full-time job will be, but I know that when it happens, I can pickup and move there quickly with only a few steps between me and the new place.

The thought I keep quiet is that I love the way I live and I don't plan to change it until it comes time to change it.

Evolving Propane Strategy

In a previous post, I outlined my new propane strategy. That strategy was just a start and the system is actively evolving. When I decided to revamp this system for better mobility, I knew I was going to have one problem: When I was getting my new 40# tank filled, there would be no propane attached to the RV. That's a problem that I knew I was going to have to overcome and I have found a way.

It's not so much that I have found a way as it is completion of the system that was destined for evolution. Instead of having one tank, I need two 40# tanks and a system for ensuring that I can switch out tanks as a tank empties.

In short, the system requires that when a tank empties, I switch to the next full tank, and go get the empty tank refilled. All that means is that when the switch happens, the empty tank goes in the car to be filled the next time I go into town (which happens to be every day).

This system is a pain in the ass, but I knew it would be. It means I'm hauling propane tanks a couple times a week to town and transporting a 70 Lb bomb in my tiny, disintegrating car. Life on the fringe, amiright?! haha.

But seriously, this system allows me to pick up and leave at any moment without having to call anyone to come pick up my tank and eliminates moving costs. While I will undoubtedly spend the money lost for moving costs in the form of time and inconvenience, is it that inconvenient to get a propane tank filled once or twice a month?

The system will soon evolve further. I am currently trying to figure out how to put a T-junction in the vehicle's propane line safely, so I can leave the vehicle tank attached while the exterior grill tank (40# tanks) line is attached. In non-van-dweller English, it means I can simply disconnect the exterior tank, coil up the hose, hang it in the propane compartment, and drive away without having to use tools to disconnect and reconnect propane flare fittings. In English-English, it will be vastly more convenient.

That's the latest, but I think I'm onto something. Even better, the two 40# external tanks will fit into my basement storage, so I can transport them anywhere. Life is good and getting better.

First Failures and Lessons Learned

Strangely, I am living in a warmer place than I did through grad school, yet I had my first frozen pipes last week. I have since learned why my pipes froze and it reminds me just how right I happened to get everything my first time around in the RV. It also reminds me how fragile our life and housing systems are.

My pipes froze because the RV is parked with the utility-side of the vehicle to the north. The water and sewer compartments now point north and receive no solar exposure all day every day. Turns out, that's a big problem.

The reason I was able to get away with no frozen pipes, even in -32F weather a year ago was solar exposure. It's amazing how much heat a surface can pick up and retain just from the dim, winter sun. Mostly, it's amazing how much of that solar energy gets transferred to standing water in RV tanks and how long that water can retain heat.

Another reason for my pipes freezing is the fact that power kept going out at the RV park. Strangely, I'm in a more habitable, more infrastructure-heavy place, yet power is less reliable. That's crazy stupid. But it's the way it is.

Luckily, now that I have my propane system working, and have figured out that my backup batteries can be on while the main power is on, I have furnace heat even when the grid goes down. It's great and will help to keep my tanks and pipes from freezing.

New place, new systems, new lessons. It's great and the challenges keep it interesting. When my pipes froze for the first time in two years, I wanted to throw in the towel and run for a traditional lifestyle. Then I realized, it's a minor issue that I can adapt to and incorporate into my toolkit. Now I know how to make this work even better and I can continue doing it until I find some reason not to.

Until I find that reason, I'm still living the tiny-house dream, paying less for the entirety of my living expenses than anyone I know, including those with roommates. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm doing it right, then I realize that this is the best way for me to do it and that there is no 'right'. I'm still flying and it's enough.

A New Propane Strategy

RV furnaces, water heaters, stoves, and even refrigerators run on propane. My ’98 Winnebago Brave has a built-in tank that fills to about 15 gallons, which is enough to meet my needs from the 1^st of May until the 1^st of November. That’s fantastic, but needs in the winter months change dramatically. At my last more permanent location, I had a 120 gallon tank delivered, which served my needs for the better part of the winter. Since I am so transient with work and location right now, I want to be anchored, but not –too- anchored. Being anchored, but not too anchored requires a different strategy for propane.

At my last location, I had a 120 gallon tank delivered, which was great for long periods. However, it cost $100 for delivery and $100 for removal. That’s $200 every time I move, which isn’t sustainable. In my new location, I got numerous quotes and all came in around $240 for the same service. Some places even charge a yearly tank rent of around $70, so the cost of having a tank present is costly. Making things worse, every propane delivery to a rented tank comes with a $18 haz-mat fee.

To solve some of these problems, I decided to create all new ones this year. Since the cost of moving is so high, the price of propane delivery adds up, and the price of propane is ridiculous this year, I am changing my energy strategy. First, instead of heating the house primarily with propane, I will be using electric heaters. Electricity is $0.15/kilowatt-hour at my park, whereas propane is currently around $3/gallon. Second, I will be using the install/removal fees as my budget to buy my own tanks.

The $0.15/kWh vs. $3/gallon figure above is almost useless. Except that on the coldest days, I will use approximately 20 kWh for the 24 hour period, which is $3/day for all electricity needs. On that same day, I would use about 1.5 gallons of propane, which is $4.50. Though these figures are preposterous since I’m heating a breadbox, they’re accurate.

My new strategy comes with some pitfalls. I now have to get my personal propane tanks filled on my own, which means transporting them in my car. I had to buy a bunch of brass knickknacks and hoses to connect the tanks to my RV. Yeah, they don’t just screw on and poof, done. Nothing with RV’s is. So, I had to choose tanks that I could lift, but that wouldn’t run out too quickly. The biggest tank I am comfortable transporting and moving on my own is a 40# tank. The “#” there is “pound,” but is not a direct indicator of weight. For instance, the 40# tank holds 9.4 gallons and weighs 70 pounds (Lbs) when full.

So, propane and gas lines are ridiculously convoluted. It isn’t possible to just go to the hardware store and buy a connection kit. Nope. The first step is figuring out where you want to hook the tank into the RV; before or after the vehicle’s regulator. Well, let me tell you; this isn’t an easy choice to make.

To make a long story short, I chose to connect the new tank directly to the RV’s main propane inlet and to regulate pressure at the new tank. What this required was figuring out what kind and size of fitting the RV inlet was. It ended up being a ½” flare fitting. Easy, right? Nope.

With propane fittings, you have to know thread direction (some are reversed), type of connection (flare or pipe) and you have to know these details about every single junction and what types of fittings are possible to obtain for fitting to the next piece. Since I knew what the inlet was, I built from there. Here’s the list of parts I ended up with to attach the new tank to the ‘bago:

RV Inlet: ½” normal-thread male flare

NEW PARTS

Swivel Union (1/2” flare nut to 3/8” flare nut)

Flare to Pipe-Thread Adapter (3/8” normal-thread male flare to 3/8” normal-thread male pipe-thread)

5’ Hose Assembly (3/8” normal-thread female pipe-thread to 3/8” normal-thread male pipe-thread)

Pressure Regulator with ACME Nut (3/8” normal-thread female pipe-thread)

40#, 9.4 gallon propane tank with ACME male connector/valve

Doesn’t sound that bad. It’s not. But I found the simplest solution possible for connecting my own propane tank to the ‘bago. Regrettably, it has taken me too much time and too many trips to the hardware store to finally figure it all out. Many hardware stores don’t have all the connections needed to make this possible.

Many hardware store trips, questions, and frustrations later, I’m up and running. I’m now more mobile than ever before. What’s the value of that? Well, I’m not sure. But since I don’t have a permanent job, it seems that minimizing these $240 propane tank moves might be worth it. In the end, I’ll have a couple nifty 40# propane tanks that will act as year-long barbeque tanks at my future permanent home. The $240 I would have spent to have a tank delivered and removed just turned into a one-time cost of about $100, $170 if I want a second big tank, and I never have to pay that again if I don’t want to. In the last two years, I have lost $480 to propane tank delivery and removal and in total, $600 to propane tank machinations. I’ve learned my lesson. I just wish I learned it sooner.

A Brief 2 Year Review

Living in an RV for just over two years now sounds nuts. The reason it sounds nuts is because it is. The RV is 26x8.5 feet; it's a rolling house with a 221 square foot footprint. The smallest apartment I have ever seen is just under 400 square feet. The only common American living spaces smaller than my domicile are dorm rooms, but even then, the dorm room doesn't house bathroom, kitchen, bedroom, and the moving truck. After two  years in my RV, I have learned a lot, lived even more, and have changed so many of my perspectives.

One of the things I have learned by living in an RV is that RV's are the most fragile, non-durable, and most poorly designed devices in existence. There is a reason a $100,000 RV sells for only $10,000 only 10-15 years later. The reason is that all of the systems will be degraded, in need of repair, and will be expensive to fix. I have had to repair the furnace, water heater, refrigerator, waste tank valves, toilet, and electrical systems. Sure, I've been full-timing in the beast for two years, but it was barely used for the first 12 years of its life. Being handy and all-seasons-durable has been a requirement of full-timing in an RV.

Another thing I have learned about RV'ing full time is that it is not as cheap as one might think. Rents are slightly cheaper than apartment dwelling and there are no leases involved. That's great and worth its weight in gold as a post-graduate graduate looking for work and doing contract work. But rent is still needed and it is still based on the value of the place being rented from. If an RV park is in a desirable location, the rent will be based upon the economic potential of the park to sell its land to a developer to put apartments on. What that means is that an RV park will rent you a parking space with a water spigot, open sewer hole, and an outdoor electrical plug for about the price of a super-cheap apartment. In a short: RV rent is a colossal ripoff.

Before I moved into the RV, I believed that owning is always better than renting. Bullshit. As a landlord on the side, I can tell you that owning is almost always the ripoff. As a homeowner renting out my property, I can tell you that my tenants have it great; They pay exactly what I pay in mortgage, insurance, and HOA, yet they don't have to worry at all when something goes wrong. If the water heater breaks, their cost is a phone call and a little time; My cost is a new water heater, time, installation, and removal of the water heater (aka. $1,000 down the shitter). Sure, they don't get the deed to the property in 30  years, but chances are pretty good that I won't either. Owning is better than renting? Nope. Not if time, flexibility, and lack of responsibility are qualities of life one wants.

Another important lesson that has come out of RV-dwelling is that nothing in America is free. I mean "free" and free and free. Nothing. The homeless of this country are frowned and crapped upon for their situation. "Why not get a job and an apartment," we all say. Well, here's the thing, you first have to get the job, then keep it without having the apartment. That's hard. As someone living in a tiny house, I'm nowhere near the homeless, but after floating from curb to curb for a summer, I can tell you with expert experience that... nothing is free. There is no socially acceptable way to live in a van on a street; the cops will hassle you and neighbors will call them out of fear if discovered. There is no way to exist without paying for your existence. Every square inch of land belongs to someone, or everyone in the case of public lands, and our social system does not kindly allow exceptions. Every parking space, forested acre, and structure is owned and financially quantified.

While I have received nothing but support for my decision from friends and family, every new person I meet and explain my living situation to results in an uphill battle to prove that I am not a non-productive derelict and that I am not dangerous with a shoddy past (because only a criminal would live in an RV at 30-something, right?). Another uphill battle is proving that I am a productive member of society. You cannot experience a culture until you approach its fringes and find out the tolerances that bind all of us through expectation and hierarchy.

Despite some of these oddities, I still love it. After grad school, my work has been temporary research gigs with huge national research programs, but I am still not "gainfully" and traditionally employed. I am still super happy with the decision to be in an RV and very thankful that I have many years of tinkering with mechanical and electrical systems so I can fix every piece of junk the RV company built into this rig.

One of my perspectives that has remained constant is that living in an RV has changed my economic potential. While those living in apartments think I'm living on the edge, others think I must be poor, and yet others think I'm extreme, my economic position is fundamentally different from those living under traditional housing rents or mortgages. One fundamental difference exists that gives me a great advantage: I own the roof over my head outright. It's a glorified van, an RV, or a tiny house, but I own it outright. When the income stops, the roof over my head doesn't go poof. I have done what others thought impossible and that makes me mighty.

After two years in the RV, I plan to continue doing it for as long as I can, but I can see the day when I won't. It has been the perfect young-man's adventure --- one I wish I had realized much sooner and far younger. Despite the system's imperfections, it is still economical and saves me money on living expenses. Some day, the RV will either be sold for lint or it will make a great summer cabin in a new community each summer. Of all the repairs, new inventions, and details that have needed tending to, the RV has granted me the mental space to find out what I want in life and most importantly, how little I actually need. After two years, I can think of few better ways to have done grad school and come out ahead and safe on the other side.

My So-Called Post-Grad Life

The post-graduate graduate life has been hilariously fun. I’m not really sure how to describe what life is like in a way that would be broadly relatable, but I guess hilariously fun will have to do. Since graduation, I found myself road tripping for weeks at a time, landing an unexpected and unwanted job, and living in the mountains. I’m broke, but my life is currently what most work their entire lives to find and I found it in the dawn of my 30’s.

Graduating from graduate school was painful. It was the most fulfilling intellectual experience of my life. I made great friends, found incredible mentors, and experienced a radically dizzying 540 degree twist on how I view the world, life, and how I want to live. I found new interests, lost old ones, and found exactly what I was looking for. Living under the poverty line in grad school on a rare but limited stipend, the launch into the real world wasn’t financially friendly. I knew it wouldn’t be, but I think I made the best of it.

Instead of worrying, I am living on the small amount of savings I had, and resting on the laurels of a seed I planted over two years ago before approaching grad school. I don’t know what was going through my head over two years ago when I decided to go to grad school in an RV, but I wish I could thank my old self. The ability to float and not worry about steep rents or leases has been a godsend and has allowed me to survive the launch into the vicious exo-school world without a guaranteed paycheck.

It’s strange to look back on what led me to this plan over two years ago then consider how much has changed in my head over the last two years. The me that entered grad school wouldn’t recognize the me of today. Vulnerability safely hidden behind iron-clad walls, science my only way of thinking, and a damaging belief in a rigid world; the pre-grad school me would have found my current post-graduate-self unfathomable. I don’t know how to describe it, but I thank the old me for being so rigid and fearful of the world.

In the same breath, I finally don’t fear the world. I now know that I will fail and I am not afraid of it. Failure is inevitable and it is one of the only pure universal truths. On my path to failure, I will do everything in my power to not, but when I do, I will fall more gracefully than I was capable of before. I will no longer approach failure as something to be avoided because the imagined consequences are too painful to endure. Instead, I now approach failure as a fork in the road that will allow for new journeys and experiences.

In one of the scariest moments of my life, jobless and with no apparent hope of finding work, I stumbled upon work that took me to live in the mountains for most of the summer. Failure happened – joblessness happened – and the world didn’t end. Through seeds planted years prior, I floated myself, landed softly, slid through a potentially bad situation with grace. I let luck take me where it would. Sure, I’m not working in a glamorous job, living in a glamorous house, or driving a glamorous car, but what I am doing fits me and works well for now. I have security that so few do; I own the roof over my head outright and can drive my house to the next place that I find work after this job is done.

Most importantly, I’m happier than I may have ever been because I finally found the tools to be happy and to live in a way that works for me. This little multi-year road trip isn’t over yet, but it isn’t permanent either. I will feel the chains of domestication once again someday, but instead of an imaginary obligation to do so, I will now only fall to the clutches of a conventional daily grind by choice and through life events that pull me there. And if that day never comes, then it doesn’t and I will be happy either way. Graduate school was one of the most important events of my life so far. I don’t know what drove me there, I certainly didn’t know what it was I was looking for, but  I am pretty sure I found it.

Who is Han Solo?

The Millennium Falcon is a spaceship piloted by Han Solo and his best friend, Chewbacca. I call Chewbacca Han’s “best friend,” because he’s not just a counterpart or pet – they’re close, like family. And the Millennium Falcon isn’t just a hollow ship – it’s a house, home, mode of transportation, and a central part of Han and Chewy’s story. The Falcon is a character and a central piece of Han’s identity. He knows its bugs, how it works, and how to keep it going. The Falcon is an extension of Han and a pivotal piece of Han and Chewy’s friendship. Without the Millennium Falcon, who is Han Solo? Maybe more simply: Who is Han Solo?

Floating around space on a ship that most regard as space junk with a furry critter and a finicky engine, Han Solo is an intergalactic vagabond. He’s a guy with a single plan – making it day to day without much trouble. He has given up on making it big, seeking enlightenment, and maybe even women. Princess Leia, many years his junior, doesn’t really impress him much. He’s rough around the edges, maybe a little sleazy, and makes enemies rather easily. He makes friends just as easily.

But women love Han. Even if they don’t want to. Princess Leia, despite her best efforts, can’t resist the free-natured, care-free, scruffy (yet handsome) looks of Han Solo. Neither can the female fans of Han Solo. But, why? Who is Han Solo?

Han Solo is a loser. He’s a guy living in a flying Winnebago. He doesn’t have a job. He doesn’t pay rent. He just buys spaceship gas and doesn’t even fill up the tank all the way. Han Solo doesn’t change his clothes. He lives with a giant dog/cat-like creature and picks up intergalactic hitchhikers. He doesn’t even clean his roaming house, which is actually more of a glorified moving van – it’s a cargo ship. Han Solo doesn’t even pay his debts, which means he must have a pretty horrible credit rating. But women love Han Solo.

Of all the things Han Solo is (or perhaps more importantly, is not), he is adventurous. He is care free. He’s daring, has swagger, and tries to not care for anyone but himself. He knows Chewbacca can take care of himself, so doesn’t pay any mind to watching out for him. He knows his vehicle so well, his lifestyle works. If there’s another thing that Han Solo is, he’s smart. He’s very smart.

Han pilots an old ship that most people consider to be garbage. He has no debt on his vehicle, which is also his house. He has no dependents. And he can fix everything on his ship by himself. Of course Princess Leia doesn’t pay any mind to these details, only Han’s swagger and his insolent attitude toward her sense of ego and political aspirations. Han Solo is independent. He lives his life the way he wants to, doesn’t need much, and seems to generally enjoy living below the radar.

Being Han Solo in today’s world is difficult. The Empire is everywhere. There are no far away planets to escape to. Debts aren’t so easily resolved as with a blaster. And not every guy looks like Harrison Ford. But who is Han Solo, if not a guy with a great life, just the right amount of companionship, freedom to roam, and the ability to do it all with his own hands? Han Solo is a guy living under the radar, on the frontier, and without worldly needs – and he’s doing it in a flying Winnebago.

Han Solo has the life and he gets the girl. Everybody loves Han Solo.

The Problem with Tiny Houses

The “Tiny House Movement” is great, but it’s also a failure. It’s great that people are starting to think outside the imprisoning mortgage and rent system, but the guise of environmental-mindedness needs to be questioned. The total dollar savings over a foundation house is unquestionable, but looking more closely, not only is the cost “savings” questionable, but the utility vs. cost isn’t great.

The tiny house movement appears to be as rooted in environmental motives as it is in protest of conventional economic norms. The reduced size of the houses is supposed to be less resource intensive in construction materials required, as well as less energy intensive due to less volume of space to heat, clean, and maintain. For many of those savings, there is a true savings to be had. But to what end and is it really saving anything?

The reason for the environmental question is that the tiny house movement is really just creating new housing spaces. It’s not replacing, repurposing, or improving current housing spaces; it’s creating new demand for building products and creating more housing spaces. From a pop-enviro-culture perspective, the creation of smaller, more efficient spaces is great. But it’s NOT great to be creating new demand for new building products, flatbed trailers, etc, only to create MORE housing spaces. The creation of these spaces either leads to more room being made for others to come into empty housing spaces and/or it leads to the abandonment of pre-existing housing areas. In essence, the tiny house movement is just a new form of consumption and a new pathway for population growth, which is in conflict with the core of current problems that environmentalism is concerned with.

Tiny houses are often recognized for being a better dollar savings over a conventional home. But are they really? Tiny houses are often 100-200 square feet, sometimes a little more. The costs I frequently see on the internet are between $18,000 and $35,000 for construction materials. If we look at cost per square foot, that’s $90-$350/square foot at the extremes of those numbers. A $200,000 house with 2,000 square feet is $100/square foot. The tiny house only solves one problem: Total cost. Dollars per square foot, tiny houses cost as much or more than real houses.

That’s why the tiny house movement needs to move toward recognizing RV dwelling as part of the tiny house movement. RV’s over 10 years old have lost so much of their value, few are worth very much. My Winnebago Brave was 14 years old when I bought it and had lost over 80% of its original value. My 200 square foot [RV] tiny house cost only $50/square foot, which is a tremendous savings over the cost of building a new structure and it was ready to go the moment I purchased it. Modern RV’s are well-insulated, the electrical systems are well designed, and are fully self-contained rolling homes.

RV’s make even better tiny houses than tiny houses, in part because they have lost their value due to high gas prices. Not too many people are wanting to buy gas for these beasts that get 4-8 MPG. As a tiny house, one can park it and move it only as-needed. I only move mine in the summer around town, then I will move it to another location once I locate employment. My gas costs are almost non-existent. I have put 300 miles on my Winnebago since I bought it almost two years ago.

There are fields upon fields of RV’s, rotting, waiting to be sold. The RV is a preposterous thing to begin with, but with gas prices over $3/gallon, they’re unsustainable for almost anyone to use recreationally. Which is one reason the tiny house movement is preposterous. There are fields of mobile, manufactured, tiny homes that have almost no value and represent a huge potential savings over the construction of a new structure to live in. These rolling, self-contained, pre-made and largely abandoned homes are a much better answer to the problems that tiny-housers are trying to solve. The most environmentally friendly thing one can do is to repurpose something that is unused or underutilized, rather than construction of new places and the creation of new demand for building products. Time for the tiny house movement to start looking at repurposing rather than just creating new construction. Tiny houses are just RV’s made with conventional housing products, which are heavy and require a big, powerful truck to haul them. Tiny houses solve only one problem, but they create all new ones.