When the Detour Becomes the Journey

For about five days, I obsessed over tire pressure gauges, tire inflators, and portable air compressors. I researched options. I talked to people. I asked questions. I compared brands, sizes, prices, and power sources. I even stood in front of the air compressors at Harbor Freight, which is not exactly my natural habitat, fully expecting to buy one.

And then I did not.

At the time, I had no idea why. I walked out of the store empty-handed, drove away, and immediately started kicking myself. It was the last day the compressor was on sale. I had stayed until closing. I had already done all the research. Why had I not bought it?

That night, I had a dream. I was standing on the side of the road next to my RV, waiting for help.
There was no panic. No fear. No clear explanation about what had happened. The whole scene felt almost ethereal, as if I were simply standing there, stranded, waiting for someone to come.

I woke up thinking about tires.
Again.

“Okay,” I said to myself. “There is obviously something about tires.”

I went to a Facebook group for RV maintenance and repair, planning to ask seasoned RVers about their experience with air compressors and tire inflators. I never posted the question because the first post on the page was exactly what I needed to see. It was from a man who had worked in the tire business for more than thirty years. He was offering a tutorial on what RV owners needed to know before summer travel. His words literally jumped off the screen and spoke to me.

It is not only the mileage, although mileage matters.
It is not only the tread, although tread matters.
The issue many RV owners fail to pay attention to is the age of the tires.

He recommended replacing RV tires every three to five years, regardless of mileage and how good they looked on the outside. He explained that tires can degrade from the inside out. They can appear perfectly fine and still be dangerously close to failure. Then he explained how to find the manufacture date.

That was it. That was what my intuition had been trying to tell me. I did not simply need a better gauge. I did not simply need a portable inflator. I needed new tires.

Once I understood that, the decision became easy. I bought the tires. And while I was sitting in the shop waiting for them to be installed, I made another decision. I decided to take the pressure off of me.

My original plan had been to drive the RV to New Hampshire. I had trip plan, a destination, a schedule, and a goal. I was going to cover the miles and get there in time to celebrate a friend's 70th birthday. But as I waited for those new tires, I realized that what I needed most was not another goal.

I needed to experience the RV. I needed a few days to drive without rushing, learn what I was doing, notice how everything felt, and let the trip unfold without turning it into another assignment.

So that is what I did. For four days, I have been wandering. I have driven three-hundred-mile days and have learned a lot about my RV and about myself along the way. Yesterday, I drove out to see an old friend I had not seen in years. The visit turned into the kind of magical spiritual reset I did not know how badly I needed.

She is living her life untethered. Ironically, she lives only a few minutes away from Michael Singer, the author of The Untethered Soul, and his Temple of the Universe. No wonder I felt drawn to visit her. I read his book awhile back. Ever since, I've been longing for a life more untethered, more free. Visiting the temple, walking the property, feeling the energy, remembering some of his teachings, I realized that there was a reason I had come. 

From there, we went to a spectacular plant-based food truck. Then we visited a two-hundred-year-old tree in a county park and had an encounter with a woman who talked about losing herself in her caregiving journey. She reminded me of myself. The encounter brought me me to tears and back to myself and the undeniable longing for freedom.

There are moments in life that do not look dramatic from the outside, but something inside you shifts. That day was one of them. As I said goodbye to my friend, I could feel a shift in me. I headed to my next campsite ... a very special place right on the water. I am feeling especially drawn to the water. This morning, I am sitting in bed with a cup of tea, a multitude of pillows, and the water right outside my window. The curtains are open. A palm tree fills part of the view. My laptop is in front of me, but for once I do not feel as if I am supposed to be producing something.

I am simply here. I am simply doing what I love to do. 

Later today, I will drive about an hour south. I will spend some time by the pool and then go to Honeymoon Island Beach. Two days later I will put the RV back in storage and hop on a plan, go to my friend's birthday party, reconnect with my NH people, and relax my days away by the lake.

That is the whole plan. And even typing those words helps me take a long, deep, peaceful breath.

The truth is, if I had driven all the way to New Hampshire in the RV, I do not think I would have fully enjoyed the experience. It would have been goal based. There is nothing wrong with that. Goals have carried me through much of my life. But that was not what I needed this time.

I needed to understand the RV before asking it to carry me across the country. I needed to understand myself, too. I needed a break from always having to do something, accomplish something, fix something, build something, or arrive somewhere.

Sometimes what looks like a practical problem is really life asking us to slow down, listen closely, and choose a different season.

The tires were real. The safety issue was real. I am deeply grateful that I paid attention. But I also think the tires became the language my intuition used because they were impossible for me to ignore.

What began as an obsession with air compressors became a lesson in trust.
What began as a travel plan became permission to wander.
What began as a concern about getting stranded became an invitation to stop pushing so hard.

There is a metaphor here that I cannot miss. Tires can look perfectly fine on the outside and still be deteriorating within. So can people. We can keep moving. Keep producing. Keep meeting expectations. Keep following the plan. And still know, somewhere deep inside, that something needs attention.

I thought my intuition was warning me about tires. It was. But maybe it was also warning me about the cost of continuing to move through my life as if every season had to be productive.

There is a time for goals.
There is a time for deadlines.
There is a time for long drives, ambitious plans, and getting where we said we were going.
And there is a time to wander.
A time to sit by the water.
A time to reconnect with an old friend.
A time to stand beneath an ancient tree and cry.
A time to follow the next small invitation instead of the entire map.

The song “Turn! Turn! Turn!” has been running through my mind. To everything, there is a season. For now, this season is joy, peace, love, freedom. 

I will get on a plane. I will get to New Hampshire. I will sit by the water until I feel called to do something else. And soon enough, my RV journey will continue.
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So will the journey of my untethered soul.

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