There are days that I realise just how exposed I am. How vulnerable we are.
There are days I know without a doubt that I made the right choice. How happy we are.
This is a swinging gate, that changes from week to week, day to day, minute to minute.
In the weeks coming up to our departure from Melbourne some 4 or 5 months ago I had serious doubts that this was a good idea. Consider that this idea came out of a dream. Seriously, months of dreaming of tiny homes and mobile homes and then a food truck that isn’t a food truck but a Shiatsu clinic. Dreaming. Literally waking up and thinking “Okay, I hear you subconscious/Universe/higher self… Let’s do it.” A dream; an idea that appeared midst sleep – totally sound way to do things right? Well, who doesn’t want to live their dreams!?
Doubts are those things that build walls around your dreams, making you feel a little less confident about the path your walking so steadily towards. I had those, they billowed into cumulus thoughts about leaving the beautiful friends that I had made, the stability that had grown around me, the loss of familiarity and community. These doubts rained and smouldered the fire of my enthusiasm. Determined, I worked through these doubts. I followed through.
Today when I’m asked how its all going I glow in acknowledgement of just how happy the choice has made me. Though, there are days that are harder than others. The road we’re driving upon is littered with the unforeseen, unknown, unheard of, blissful, wonderful and grateful flotsam. Complexity in simplicity.
Good days are met with meditation and Qi Gong, big breakfasts, possibly a client or two, swims in the ocean with the marine life, walks with Leena, new surroundings and general merriment at the creation of this Earthy dimension. Good days mean that we can tackle anything that brushes the bow of this wayward adventure. We feel free, kissed by the sun and open to the boundless possibilities. We have ample time to plot how we can help the world and ourselves become a better place to inhabit.
And the bad days. Well, life happens. Events or feelings crop up in the usual manner they would for anybody. The day usually start the same way, but there’s an air of tension dampening the flow of breezy carefree-ness. Situations don’t roll off the coat in just that way they would on a good day. The big blue truck recognizably driving through town must always be on its best behaviour. And sometimes you just want to take your frustration out on that driver in front of you, but the business mind suppresses the ability to vent. “No parking for frustration this spot is reserved for Zen only.”
The few things that I was not aware of previously, that could only be known through experience are the vulnerability and exposure of living and working from a truck, the impact on my partner and our beloved dog and the lingering concern of instant calamity.
Vulnerability is a constant. While our home has the entire world as its backyard, this means the entire world is always in your backyard, and the garden-party can feel a little crowded at times. You know those days when you just want to sit under a tree and feel like crap? Or when you are overcome with the desire to spend the entire day in your underwear? When most people have an argument with their partner, their house can accomodate several discrete and private spaces to fume and dissolve any hurt feelings. A garden and a bedroom for example. Life in a truck doesn’t allow this. When your home consists of a 2 by 3 meter space, the whole wide, and very public world, offers little shelter when you experience your most exposed states.
We also often find our movements dictated or restricted by the combination of our home with our business. During treatments, it is of course necessary for the rest of the family to absent themeselves. This is fine 90 percent of the time, when the weather is fair and there are places for them to be. When it’s storming or a treatment goes over time, it can leave all parties feeling a little bit like they got dunked at the sideshow.
Taking your home in for a service can always present a heightened state also. This ’88 Mistubishi Canter we call home is what most mechanics call ‘old’, an overnight repair can actually leave us homeless on short notice.
As for the lingering concern of instant calamity. I guess we all live with those thoughts. Combine this with the exposure, vulnerability and a lust for constant change and you may start to wonder why you should even decide to live like this. But honestly, I don’t think I could live any other way.
The freedom and the joy that living and working in a truck has bought us is far more valuable than the apparent risks a mobile life could bring. Since I left Melbourne some 4 or 5 months ago, I feel as though I have grown. Life has been enriched by the locations and the people that we have met, by the clients I have treated and the way in which I feel more like myself everyday, as both a person and a practitioner.
(Written jointly by Jo & Nick)