Not to make a metaphor out of everything, but my problem with this trip is my problem with this life: I want every possible future, so I distrust any choice that limits me to just one.

Newbie tip: Chili and enchilada casserole are two good things to make and freeze for your RV adventure, but you don’t necessarily want to serve them at the same meal.

“It sounds like a cliche,” Dave noted. “We’re in a campground in the middle of Nebraska, but we are literally surrounded by cornfields.”

I don’t really know what I think of this yet. There’s plenty of room but not enough places to put things. I haven’t figured out a place for the dog treats, or a place for the water bowl so I don’t have to empty it every time we move, or a place for dirty clothes, or a place for wearable semi-dirty clothes. Also, we need a bar of soap and something else I’ve already forgotten. And do I walk to their showers or use ours? Also, I forgot the apples and the dates. Everything was so rushed and I was cross.

It’s not that I haven’t entertained the notion of moving before. And it’s not that I think moving is some special thing you should only do if you’re twenty-something or retired or relocating for a job. But why am I so obsessed with the idea of moving that I spend hours in the middle of the night scrolling through Trulia, yet so paralyzed by the idea I can’t talk to a realtor?

I was recently terrified by the question, “Are the Woke are the new Puritans?” How do I answer that? I mean, as a white, middle-aged woman—

…No wait, I’m not sure I should say that. I don't mean to use age as a value judgment or attempt to apologetically contextualize myself or her. Let me rephrase.

When I was three years old my mom said, “If you don't start shaping up we're going to have to let you go.”

I didn't close the storm windows because I knew Dave would say, “I'll do it.” Then I'd make a show of how I was going to do it anyway and he'd have to say, “I don't mind, really.” So I sit here and he closes windows around me. Then he comes over and kisses the top of my head. “I think you smell good.”

Then I realize that even if I’m right, hearing that you are an emotional seven-year-old while you’re sitting in the Social Security waiting room might not be very helpful. Because growing up is hard enough when you’re a kid. How are you supposed to start when you’re already an adult?

When this point is reached you are perfectly safe—all that is necessary is to protect it from dirt. Do not stop short of bleeding and numbness and do not on any account close the opening with plaster.