The hardest part of becoming a grey nomad [The Mad Nomads]

This is the third instalment of “How to divest yourself of all your belongings and hit the road.”

You may have already read about how we decided to do it then how we magically acquired a caravan… now for the hard bit.

Christmas was over, we had taken the new caravan for a shakedown cruise in the Highlands out of Sydney and we were starting a new year. I had nearly reached the magical pension age and it was time to take back my power and quit my job… or to dress it up, retire.

During the Christmas holidays I had decided to hand in my resignation on the first day back at work and this was going to be the big day.

As is my want I didn’t think too hard about this significant step… I dashed my parting letter off… “Thanks for putting up with me for the last 12 years, it’s been fun, but I’m off to become a grey nomad.”  And I immediately emailed it to my manager even though he was still on hols, so that I wouldn’t chicken out. He got back immediately. It was as though he had spent his holidays glued to his computer waiting for this missive to hit the inbox. So no chickening out, he had accepted my resignation.

I allowed myself a moment of reflection and realised I was leaving in excitement. I had a plan, a pension and I was free.

I never guessed it could be like this… it was the most enormous relief. The terror I thought would accompany the ditching of a very comfortable pay packet was nowhere to be seen… I was happy, relieved, and I looked forward to the open road… and seeing that the couch, which was the place where Geoff did his endless online research, would be sold along with everything else, I could look forward to having a husband who was actually “doing” stuff with me.  Although, I confess I was a little bit worried. The first thing he had done when he was sure it was for real, was to buy a new computer and a long distance, remote area modem with whip, magnet and bells and whistles.

Much to my chagrin my employers didn’t show me out the door straight away, they asked me to stay a month. The nerve! This was rare, as most other retiring managers left more or less immediately. Some even left before they knew they were going. So anticipating a similarly abrupt departure I had cleared out my company car and made sure I had the change for a train ticket home. I was so taken aback by this development, that I acceded to their request before thinking about it and filled my office chair for another month. It actually saved me from analysing my position and I wasn’t tempted to go against my free flowing spirit and start planning our next move.

I am a fan of “The Power of Now” and I take Eckhart Tollee very seriously.  “Above all, don’t think” he says… So accordingly the next weekend I stood musing in our huge family room. Not thinking, mind you, musing. The whole place was full of stuff… it was totally full. It was a 4 bedroom, 3 bathroom, double garaged, swimming pooled McMansion and it was chockers with “things”. I had at least 10 pie dishes and I don’t cook… there were four dinner sets and a million pairs of shoes. I had cupboards full of doilies… who uses doilies? Where do you start with all that? Every cupboard in a house packed with storage space was full and everything had to go. Eckhart echoed in my head “no thought” he said…

He was right; you couldn’t plan the demise of this heap of garbage in your head without going bonkers. So I picked up one pottery statue and put it in the middle of the floor of this vast and spacious room. Then I picked up a vase and put it beside the statue. I viewed this tiny collection much as a sculptor would view the beginnings of a major work of art. Then I snatched a tablecloth from one of the many tables that also had to go and I placed the cloth separately at the start of an opposing pile.

For two hours I picked up one thing at a time and soon I had four piles going and they were growing in stature by the minute. These formed the basis of our garage sales but when I put that first statue down I didn’t know this. I was just “doing” something because stuff had to be done if this dream was going to proceed. I would do this weekly for months to fuel an endless wave of garage sales and I became more and more ruthless.

Next week we will learn how, when tools are involved, men attending garage sales become ruthless thieves, stealing from each other’s piles of purchases. But wait! We have just heard we might be going to Bourketown in the Gulf for a few months work… what have I done?! Briefly I wanted the doilies back…

 What was the hardest part of becoming a grey nomad for you? What was the biggest challenged you faced? Tell us in the comments below…