USA: From fast and frenzied to low and slow

How do I downshift here without lurching or grinding the gears? I actually need your help with this one, friend.

When I taught Personal Finance to high school students, we always did a brief unit on how to buy cars with cash instead of making car payments. In the exercise (which had them learning how to efficiently browse Craigslist before it was so littered with scams), they had to initially “purchase” something very used and likely ugly, but functional. Gradually, as they progressed through the simulation, they would learn to strategically upgrade until they could buy a car they truly love.

One of the tips I always gave my students was to learn to drive a manual transmission as soon as possible. I promised them it would be frustrating and maddening at first, and it would likely leave them (and perhaps their driving instructor) in tears at least once.

However, I also promised them it would be worth it in the end because of the amount of money they could save on the purchase of a used car. Because most people these days are not learning to drive a stick shift, people trying to sell a used manual car generally have to reduce their asking price. Very few people want to buy a car they don't know how to drive. It makes the test drive rather awkward.

I remember the first day my dad took me to a big open parking lot to learn to drive his 1983 Volkswagen Jetta, a manual four-speed diesel—burgundy, with cloth interior and a hand-cranked sunroof. It was one of those zero-to-sixty-eventually machines, sensible and practical and not much of a theft magnet—but I loved that little car.

Until I actually started learning to drive it that fateful Saturday afternoon.

Then I hated it.

The lurching! The grinding of the gears! The yelling in frustration! The slamming a hand on the steering wheel!

I hated everything about it. I hated the clutch. I hated whoever came up with the idea of three pedals for only two feet. I hated myself. I hated my father. I hated Henry Ford for his role in the creation of America’s car culture.

Tears were shed.

But then I got it. My two feet learned to do different jobs, as did my two hands, and all four of my appendages figured out how to communicate with and respond to my eyes, my ears, and my brain. It was a thing of beauty.

Within no time at all, I was putt-putting that little Jetta all over the Southern California freeways with the sunroof open, my favorite tunes blaring from the cassette player, an In-N-Out Double-Double in one hand, and a large Coca-Cola balanced on the seat between my legs (before cars came with cup holders, of course).

When my own kids were nearing the time to learn to drive, I had them sit in the front passenger seat and shift gears for me while I drove. (It was a different car by then, a Toyota Camry that stubbornly refused to die). At first I would tell them when to shift, but eventually they learned to listen to the engine and feel the different situations. Soon they could tell me when it was time to shift.

For the health of the car, as well as the heft of the pocketbook, it pays to know how to drive a stick shift well—and different circumstances call for different gears.

My husband Andy and I have been in high gear for the past few months. Exploring seven countries in three months meant we were cruising along at high speed most days—seeing, doing, learning, documenting. By the end, we were plumb tuckered out. Fortunately, we had a few days of rest with my family in San Diego before starting the long drive north, back to Montana, in yet another sick shift, this time a Honda Fit.

As the miles passed and the scenery gradually changed, we began to downshift, at least mentally. Coming off of our exciting time of international adventure travel, with new and completely unfamiliar things every hour of the day, we were headed back to the property we used to own, to move into a borrowed fifth wheel camper on the RV pad in front of what used to be Andy’s shop. We need to finish building Walter, our expedition vehicle, so we can hit the road as global nomads. The buyer of our home has agreed to give us access to the shop and RV pad for a couple more months so we can get the job done.

After a few days of travel, including visits with more family and friends, we arrived in what has been “our” valley since 2004. Everything looked just the same as when we left it on December 1, 2023.

We turned onto Eastside Highway, the asphalt ribbon between Florence in the north, and Hamilton in the south. Aside from a couple of stop signs and a roundabout, Eastside is fast, despite being narrow and winding with no shoulders. As we finally approached the familiar turn onto “our” little dirt road, we had to slow drastically, as always, and downshift quickly from fifth into second to climb up the steep hill.

So here we are, back on the property we have already released, both financially and emotionally. We are settling into our friend’s fifth wheel—the fifth camper we have lived in over the years. Even though we are here to prepare for more wandering the globe, our recent life of travel has suddenly come to a full and complete stop.

The dust our tires kicked up as we drove up the road is still hanging in the air, but we have shifted gears already. It’s time to unpack our grubby work clothes and finish the project.

The transition from the whirlwind of the past few months to the low and slow grind of a singular focus in a singular place may prove a little dizzying at first. We don't have time for a slow adjustment, though. We aim to spend the summer in Alaska—in our rig. There is no time for jet lag, either physically or mentally.

But that brings me to the question simmering on the back burner of my mind. I need your help with this one, friend. I have thoroughly enjoyed writing these Tuesday posts. This one, in fact, marks my fortieth consecutive week here at Beauty and Truth Weekly.

If you’ve made it this far in this week’s post, you are likely among the few who have journeyed with me as I’ve processed the farewells to the life we have built here, and said our goodbyes to nearly all of our worldly possessions. You traveled with me to Southeast Asia as we set out to wander a completely unfamiliar place with almost no plans in place, just to see if it could be done.

But now Andy and I are facing some downtime. We will be grinding out the completion of this build for the next couple of months.

Do you want to keep reading during this transitional time before the next travel adventure begins? Should I just put this little blog on hiatus until then? I write because it is how I process the life we live in this crazy world, and I can ALWAYS find things to write about, but I don't want to bore you.

It is hard for me to know, aside from the sparse comments and ‘likes’ I receive here, if many people are reading along, and if they find it valuable. I’m not so fragile that I need my ego stroked, but I really could use some practical input. If you are a regular reader, even if you’ve never commented before, would you mind giving me a bit of feedback here—either in the comment section, or in response to this email (for subscribers), or in a private message?

What kinds of things have you enjoyed reading here? Do you recall any posts that have been especially meaningful, or helpful, or entertaining to you? What would you like to see more of? Any topics you wish I would cover? What would improve Beauty and Truth Weekly, in your opinion? Would you like me to continue weekly as I have been, or pause until we get to the really exciting part—scheduled for this summer?

I would love your thoughts and opinions.

And . . .

Here is the most awkward question of all . . .

Hmmm . . .

Are these posts valuable enough to you that you would be willing to pay (not much, just the price of a latte or two a month) to read them? I’m giving some consideration to changing the format so either some or all of the content here would be on a paid subscription basis.

It’s cringe-y for me to even ask for your thoughts on this topic, but sometimes I do think it would be nice to receive a little compensation for the time and effort I put in here, if indeed other people find it valuable.

Oh, and one more thing: I would love to know if you ever listen to the audio tracks for these posts.

I’m changing gears, friend. Your input could be the difference between me lurching ahead clumsily, and shifting smoothly through the curves that no doubt lay ahead in the weeks and months to come. One way or another, it promises to be quite a ride.

I look forward to hearing from you. I feel like we’re in this together.

Until next week,

Sherry