13 Days to Go: Chaos, Cracks, and the Call of the Open Road

Thirteen days. Just thirteen. That’s all we have left before this grand nomadic adventure begins.

Am I ready? Hell no.

I’ve tossed out more stuff than a woman escaping a midlife closet crisis. Remember the vow to pack light? Well, somewhere between “minimalism” and “might-need-this-just-in-case,” I packed it all back in. It’s madness. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. So, naturally, I do both — with a glass of wine in hand and a bin bag in the other.

We’ve changed mattresses more times than a soapie changes plot lines. The bedding situation has done a full circle, the kitchen gear’s in a state of limbo, and the tent’s front cover? Still not finished. Oh, and we don’t even have a braaier yet. The South African in me is horrified.

But hey — I’ve got a laptop. Sure, there’s no online job attached to it yet, but we live in hope. And prayer. Preferably both.

Emotionally ready? Whahahaha. You think?

No, I’m not. But here’s the thing — I cannot not do this. If I back out now, I’ll forever regret it. I’ll lie awake in a quiet house one day, wondering what the road could’ve taught me. So no. Quitting isn’t an option. This mission is happening, ready or not.

And just for laughs — life has been testing us like a grumpy high school principal.

My car broke. Then another part broke while they were fixing the first part. Then our phone got blocked — don’t ask. Let’s just say the ex is involved and it’s not worth the airtime. We make a plan. We always make a plan.

Today, my daughter’s car gave in — thankfully, a quick fix, but still. Then the house door handle broke. Just fell off. For no reason. I also met a man — but that’s a story for another day (cue dramatic music). And there are a few others trying their luck… but honestly, no thank you. I’m not looking for a plus-one to this party — except for the one I just met, who quietly took a piece of my heart with him.

In the midst of all this, there’s light: one of my daughters is pregnant. And in a poetic twist of fate, we had already booked our camp spot close to her for two months — the exact time baby is due. We didn’t even know she was pregnant when we booked. The universe works in curious ways.

As for my mother and I — yes, we’ve had a few words. Tension brews in waiting rooms, and this feels like one giant emotional waiting room. But I know it’s stress. And I know my mission: to give my mom the best possible time on this journey. To see beautiful places, and to make her comfortable, joyful, and a little less anxious.

And me? I need to focus on healing — mind, body, and soul. I want to shed more than weight. I want to let go of the grief, the heaviness, the dead weight of the past. And yes, I’m worried about sharing such a tiny space with her — she has her ways, and her teeth do make noises when she eats. But we’ll laugh, and we’ll figure it out. That’s what families do.

So here we are. Thirteen days to go. Insurance still needs sorting. Still no braaier. Chaos? Yes. Stress? Absolutely.

But strength? Oh yes. We’re standing strong. We’re doing this.

Did something here speak to you?

Leave a comment if you feel moved, or simply sit with me in quiet.

If you’d like to walk this road with me, follow Nomadic Grandmother for new stories.

— x Elsabe