Maybe I Wasn’t Distracted After All

I have been distracted lately. At least, I thought it was distraction.

I’ve been preparing for a long RV trip this summer to get out of the Florida heat and return, for a little while, to a piece of the life I left behind when caregiving became more central. I hired an RV tech to walk me through the RV systems. I ordered new windshield wipers and a new faucet to fix a leak in the sink and asked a friend to help me. I updated my pre-trip checklist. I took my cats on a test run. The list goes on and on. 

I'm trying to finish up my latest book, My Caregiving Essentials: What to Say, Do, and Prepare Before Caregiving Becomes Your Second Full-Time Job, before I leave, but keep getting distracted. For the past several days, my attention has been completely hijacked by RV tires, air compressors, tire pressure, cold inflation, portable inflators, truck stops, pressure gauges, and every possible scenario that could unfold on the side of the road while traveling in an RV with two cats.

It has been a lot. There were moments when I thought, “Really? This is what we’re doing now?”

I have a book to finish. I have offers to create. I have clients to coach. I have a trip to plan. I have taxes to catch up on. I have chores that needs my attention. And yet, there I was, researching air compressors like I was preparing for a final exam in tire maintenance.

At first, I judged myself. I was sure I was procrastinating. I wondered if I was avoiding the harder things. I thought this was just another rabbit hole or a strange way to feel productive while not doing the deeper work in front of me.

Maybe there was a little truth in that. Sometimes I do distract myself. Sometimes I wander into the land of details because details feel more manageable than big life transitions, big creative projects, and big unknowns.

But this time, I am not sure it was only distraction. This time, I think it may have been intuition wearing a very practical disguise and guiding me to exactly what I needed to know. I found myself in an RV Maintenance Facebook group as part of my tire obsession and asked for air compressor recommendations.

And there it was. The exact information I had no idea I needed to know. When it comes to tires, age matters. A lot. My tires look great on the outside. They have good tread, no dry rot, and only 7000 miles on them. But were they too old to be safe on the long trip I have been planning?

A man in the group suggested that the manufacture date is stamped on the tire will determine how old the tire is. I went to where I store the RV and looked more closely at my actual tires. I looked for the date codes. 

And that is when the story changed.

The tires looked fine at first glance. The tread was good. They did not look worn out in the way most of us think about worn-out tires. If this had been a car I was driving around town, I might not have thought much more about it. But this is not a car I am driving around town. This is an RV. This is my 28 foot rolling tiny house.  This is the vehicle I am planning to drive a few thousand miles with two cats, my belongings, my courage, and some version of the next chapter of my life packed inside.

What I discovered is that although the tires may have good tread, they are much too old for the kind of long-distance travel I am planning. No wonder I had been obsessed. My intuition had been speaking to me incessantly.

That was not the discovery I wanted. I did not wake up hoping to add a major tire expense to my summer plans. I did not want to look at numbers and logistics and realize that something I thought was mostly handled was not quite handled after all.

But I also could not un-know it. Once I saw the date codes and understood what they meant, the whole situation shifted. Suddenly, my so-called obsession felt a little different. Maybe the part of me that could not stop thinking about tires was not being ridiculous or obsessive. Maybe she was simply trying to get my attention.

That feels important.

Intuition does not always arrive as a calm, mystical voice in the quiet of the morning.
Sometimes intuition sounds like, “Why can’t I stop thinking about this?”
Sometimes it looks like researching the same thing fifteen different ways.
Sometimes it comes through a friend’s suggestion, a random conversation, a photo you zoom in on, or a question you ask one more time even though part of you feels silly asking it.

Sometimes intuition is not dreamy at all.
Sometimes it is deeply practical.

Check the tires.
Ask the question.
Look again.
Do not assume.
Pay attention.

I think this is one of the lessons this RV is already teaching me, and I have not even left yet. Freedom is beautiful, but freedom also asks for responsibility. Adventure is exciting, but adventure also asks for preparation. Trusting the road does not mean ignoring the dashboard, the tires, the weather, the route, or the quiet nudge that says, “You might want to look at this before you go.”

That is not fear.
That is wisdom.

Of course, the next layer of the lesson was money. Once I realized the tires needed to be replaced before a long-distance trip, I had a choice. I could panic. I could freeze. I could collapse into frustration and tell myself the whole thing was too much. I could use the expense as evidence that maybe I should not go, maybe I was being foolish, maybe this dream was too big or too complicated or too expensive. Or maybe I should just make plane reservations.

I did feel some of that. I felt the disappointment. I felt the weight of the expense. I felt the little internal sigh of, “Of course. One more thing.” But then something else showed up.

Resourcefulness. Instead of only focusing on the problem, I started asking different questions. What can I do to cover this expense?  What do I know how to offer? Who could use support right now?  What could I create quickly that is real, useful, and aligned? How can I generate some income without abandoning the bigger work I am already doing?

That shift felt important too. Because for much of my life, I have been very good at being responsible. I can figure things out. I can handle logistics. I can manage crises. I can make things work.

But this felt a little different. This was not just about handling a problem. This was about trusting that I have something valuable to offer and that a real need in my life can become an invitation to be creative, not just stressed. So the tire situation nudged me to create a small, focused offer. Not a giant new business plan. Not a complicated launch. Not another huge project to distract me from the book or the road or the life I am trying to live.

Just something simple, useful, and immediate. An offer that lets me bring in some quick cash, support people in a meaningful way, and keep moving forward.

There is something humbling about that. There is also something empowering about it. So often, when unexpected expenses show up, especially in a season of transition, it is easy to feel like life is blocking us. It is easy to think, “Well, there goes the plan.” It is easy to turn one expensive discovery into a much bigger story about what is possible.

But maybe not every obstacle is a stop sign.
Sometimes it is a course correction.
Sometimes it is a safety check.
Sometimes it is a reminder that the next chapter is going to require both faith and common sense.
Sometimes it is life asking us to become more capable, more creative, and more honest about what we need.
Sometimes it is remembering that we really do have all we need to live our dreams.

I keep thinking about how close I came to dismissing the whole thing as distraction. What if I had told myself to stop obsessing? What if I had pushed the thought away and forced myself to focus on something I thought was more productive? What if I had decided that my concern about tires was just anxiety and ignored it?

I do not want to turn every spiral into a spiritual message. That would not be honest. Sometimes a rabbit hole is just a rabbit hole. Sometimes distraction really is avoidance. Sometimes fear keeps us circling the same question long after we already have the answer. But sometimes, the thing that keeps tugging at us is tugging for a reason.

Discernment is learning to tell the difference.

Is this thought draining me or guiding me?
Is it keeping me stuck or helping me take a next step?
Is there useful information here?
Is there a practical action I can take?
Is this fear asking for endless reassurance, or is this intuition asking me to pay attention?

In this case, paying attention mattered. It changed my preparation. It changed my budget. It changed my risk. It changed how I am thinking about the trip ahead.

And strangely, it also made me feel more confident. I followed the nudge. I asked the questions. I found the information I needed. I made a decision. I started looking for a solution. I was able to take the content of my new book and my skills and experience and create an offer that will help women who find themselves at the beginning of their caregiving journey with their own next steps. 

So yes, I lost some time to air compressors and tire pressure charts and handheld inflators and all the tiny details I never expected to care about. Maybe I did not lose time after all. Maybe that strange tire obsession helped me find something I needed to know before I got on the road and gave me something I can do along the way to create some extra income, support my book, and help some people just starting their own caregiving journey.

Maybe the road was teaching me before I even left the driveway. Maybe intuition does not always arrive wrapped in mystery. Sometimes it arrives with a pressure gauge in one hand, a tire date code in the other, and a very clear message:

Pay attention. You are preparing for much more than an RV trip.

In case you or someone you know is at the beginning of a caregiving journey and could use practical support, I created a new Aging Parent Preparedness Plan. It is designed to help women get clear about what to say, what to do, what to prepare, and what questions to ask before caregiving becomes overwhelming.

---