I want to begin this post by affirming that the last 4.5 years on the road have provided more wonderful opportunities to see the world and I could ever have dreamed of and I wouldn’t trade the experiences we’ve had for all of the fancy apartments in sleek cities or the social and creature comforts of stationary life.

But if you’ve heard any of our stories over the last 4.5 years, you know that our road life experience has been fraught with more than a healthy dose of bad luck and substantial setbacks.

We are quickly approaching our 5 year anniversary of tiny living and it’s impossible to look back and not see the negative experiences bleeding into the rosy exploration of beautiful scenery. Furthermore, all of the negativity can be traced back to a single source: the ramshackle RV which was never designed to be a full-time residence.

When Russell chose this RV in 2012, before we ever met, his life was completely different and he jumped at a seemingly good deal which allowed him to get out of the vicious renter’s cycle in Los Angeles and begin a new life in Houston. But it quickly became clear that this unit was hastily thrown together and every possible quality corner cut which would come back to bite us repeatedly over the years.

Heating and cooling was never easy since the walls were the world’s thinnest plywood with scant insulation. You could even see sunlight streaming through the cracks. The too-small doorway would snag a beloved sweater. Our heads would often collide with too-low cabinets. Overhead shelves would pop open and spew their contents while we drive, shattering things in the process. Other drawers stick shut and refuse to open.

The large slide-out wall would break. And break again.
And again.

The engine failed, the generator gave out. The toilet broke, the awing ripped. Even the bed wasn’t properly secured to the wall and one night we awoke to an awful surprise of falling into the cargo compartment underneath. A seemingly constant barrage of failures and costly repairs plagued us from 2015-2019.

We desperately longed to trade it in for something livable but the timing was never right and the money wasn’t there. We saw no way out and continued to pour money into fixing a unit that simply wasn’t built to last. All totaled, we’ve put close to $20,000 into repairing this RV over the last 5 years.

The first couple years of road life, we attempted to blog about our misadventures (and some fun adventures along the way) but we soon realized that Home Sweet Roam was overcome with a more negative light than was fair to shed on RV life as a whole. We were living in a textbook lemon and we eventually didn’t have the energy or the heart to continue to share.

After all of these upgrades, the RV is in the best state it’s ever been in. And, since the last major repair in March 2019, everything has mercifully worked without any serious issues. But we are always nervous. Every time we put a slide out, every time we drove to a new place, every time we hit a pot-hole we are wracked with anxiety, waiting for the next component to explode or fail.

And all of the design flaws and poor build quality aside, the layout of this RV was never conducive for comfortable living. The last 4.5 years, I’ve been living in a house I had no deciding voice in choosing.

For two years, I would wake up and just work in bed all day since there were no other options for a workstation. Earlier this year, we finally carved out a small space for me to sit up front and work with some actual sunlight and it was a great improvement…until Russell’s travel was grounded due to Covid. He soon took over the top bunk as a standing desk and fashioned a poor, make-shift workspace out of the hallway which has presented it’s own set of challenges. His Zoom calls enjoy the untimely background of our bathroom, so you can guess how well that worked out…

The air conditioning unit is so loud that we can scarcely hold a conversation when it’s running and have to turn it off when he’s on work calls all day. The kitchen counter space is the size of a cutting board and as our interest in cooking has sky-rocketed over the last several years, the space and lack of an oven has severely held us back.

The space issues are not confined just to lack of comfortable living. Our storage space was completely maxed out. It got to the point that I would hold something in my hand that needed putting away and I would rotate 360 degrees and realize that there truly wasn’t a spot for it. Even buying a bottle of wine is precarious because there is just nowhere to safely secure it for travel.

Three years ago we got very serious about getting out of this RV. We did tons of research, toured countless new layouts and figured out what we really wanted. But we were turned away due to an imaginary number: Russell’s credit score.

We began to feel trapped and our resentment of the RV grew exponentially. It became the thing we needed to continue to enjoy our travel lifestyle but simultaneously, a huge source of stress. We started repeating to ourselves, “Someday…someday we’ll get out of this. Someday we’ll have space to relax and enjoy our down time. We’ll have breathing room and room to cook more elaborate meals. Someday we won’t hit our heads or scrape our knees or tear our clothes. Someday, someday…”


It became a scathing curse, a fervent prayer. A mantra and a threat. Every time I hit my head or tripped over something or a component dared to break, we would mutter or scream or cry, “Someday!”

‘Someday’ served as a vital lifeline: for many years we clung to this phrase – this promise – that life would not always be this way. But as the months and years stretched on, it often felt more akin to an impossible dream.

Until today.

Because today…
Today is Someday.

solitude grand design 382wb parked under mossy trees in florida

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