“Let’s do stuff that’s not on the list”

It’s been a few months since we really made the move, but I haven’t actually described the craziness that’s been my life lately. It’s good craziness, but crazy nonetheless.

This past summer, we made a big change from living part time in Las Vegas and part time in another large city (Salt Lake) to living part time in Las Vegas and part time in an off-grid, alpine paradise in the mountains of southern Utah. I talked a little bit about this in my August post about taking a reset here, and my September post about keeping your word here.

Pivoting To A Life Less Ordinary

We’d been yearning to lead a different lifestyle (for at least part of the year) since about 2018. This idea for change was entwined in my separating from the “perfect job”, exploring location-independent, locum tenens work and growing my nonclinical business of speaking and coaching. We toyed with transcontinental AirBnB hopping or housesitting. We seriously considered buying a catamaran and living aboard while sailing the Caribbean. But we’ve also always wanted a large, rural mountain property. One where maybe we can grow things, and have a few animals, and our child can play without worry of traffic. 

COVID happened, and one of these choices became the ideal standout… so we began our search for alpine land. We spent months looking online, taking road trips to nearby western states, and seeing different properties with various levels of improvements. But once we saw this property, we knew it was perfect for us. 

• 70 acres off the beaten path but near lots of recreation opportunities
• More than 10 species of trees 
• Deer and other wildlife sightings every day
• Not too far from a decent-sized small city with appropriate amenities
• Close enough to our other home base and airports
• Beautiful meadows with lots of sun
• A fast-flowing stream (even in a drought year) with water rights, running the whole length of the property

I especially liked that this land was not completely “raw”. It came with a concrete pad where we could park an RV or build a little something for interim use (we later chose a tiny house). It had solar and a water system with pumps and tanks from the numerous springs. There was even a little bath house already there – with a toilet, a shower, and a septic system! A large propane tank sat amongst the trees. We could plug and go and live simply this season while we designed a beautiful, grand cabin.

A Change of Focus

Over our first month here, the reality set in that NONE of these systems actually worked. They had either been ignored for years or were jerry-rigged from the start. The only thing that didn’t crap out on us was, thankfully, the concrete pad we’ve been living on in our tiny house. But there were days we couldn’t pump water. Days we couldn’t flush the toilet. Many days where we needed to store food in a cooler or just keep the refrigerator closed because the solar would not power it. Up until just recently, we had to run a loud generator to power anything, actually.

Thus, we’ve learned that infrastructure is EVERYTHING. So we spent this whole season focusing on it. We had all the systems rebuilt, and at the time of this writing, the solar/power system is still being set up. Just the other day we got propane plumbed and not merely hose-fed off of those small tanks that you have to exchange at the gas station. We hired a carpenter to make a couple more tiny house-like structures out of shipping containers (which are economical and extremely weather resistant).

We’ve realized that land of this vastness and terrain requires equipment for maintenance and access. We had to purchase an old backhoe, a heavy-duty truck, and a UTV. And we paid for help with the extensive tree debris cleanup (which is only partly underway) for the price of what you’d pay for another (nice) vehicle.

No big plans for that fancy cabin that was on the list. Well… it was on my list.

Don’t get me wrong, our tiny house is great, and I don’t need a lot of fancy things to be happy. But there is a meadow that’s just begging for a chalet with a great room and large east-facing windows, and I’ve had to quell that dream for a while, given the time and money we’ve spent just on infrastructure this year.

And we’ve recently learned that with land like this at 8000 ft elevation, we are at the mercy of the weather. It can be a sunny, 75 degree day that will burn your face, and then the next day it will flood and our access road will be washed out. It can be a perfect crisp fall day, and then the next day it will snow 2 feet. This just happened last week. We saw it coming, so we left the property and took shelter in a motel in the nearby city for a few days.

Which brings me to “the list”…

A Change of Perspective

We had just driven the 6 miles of “dirt” county road back to our property after the storm. Dirt is in quotes because a few shady patches were covered with ice and snow, yet it wasn’t as bad as we expected after a large winter storm. In a couple months, the road will be impassable by anything but snowmobiles and UTVs with special snow tracks, but right now it’s the in between time. The sun was out, and temperatures were returning to typical fall levels.

We unloaded the items we had packed up to ride out the storm in town and quickly assessed for damage. This storm luckily caused little problem to all our unprotected things – tools, storage, furniture, etc. – that are currently under a tent in the meadow. (Our contractor is working hard to get our shipping container garage in place before another storm comes so we can store things without worry of winter damage.)

We cranked up the heater we had recently installed (a MUCH needed piece of equipment in my opinion, as the nights are now dropping to freezing temps). I had worked out in the gym in town and wanted a shower. Only when I turned it on, the water pressure was too low to even make it to the shower head. The lukewarm water (the water heater isn’t very powerful) struggled to drip out of the faucet.

“I am done,” I said. “I’m just… done.” And I began making plans in my head to go back to Vegas ASAP. Overwhelm and frustration washed over me instead of warm water. It was just too much. Maybe it’s the mom in me, but when basic things stop working, I have a hard time.

At this point, we decided the best thing to do was to have Trent try and warm up the tiny, fix things as much as possible, fire up the generator, etc. while Aspen and I took a walk to the stream in the sun. OK, I can do this, I thought. 

She LOVES the stream so much. She makes up games, jumps across at different points to see how far she can leap, and brings her toys to float them in the water. I love it too. I love looking at it as I sip my tea, I love taking walks to it, I love how it changes every time I stare into its path. The water levels, the flow patterns, and how it sparkles in the sun differently every day. It’s by far the best meditation tool I’ve ever had.

Just then, in her muddy frolicking, Aspen said something that made me pause. That made me realize I had to spend time today writing all this down. She said, “Mom! You jump there, and I’ll cross here, and then I’ll meet you downstream, and then let’s do some stuff that’s not on the list!”

Not on the list? 

“Yeah, like stuff we weren’t planning to do. Stuff that’s not on the list.”

Sometimes kids say the most profound things. And if you’re not listening, you won’t catch them. 

So we did stuff that wasn’t on the list. We slid down the muddy hill, ate the snow that was still preserved in the shade of the pines, basked in the sun on a huge, smooth log, and cheered the dog as he chased squirrels.

And I appreciated that we’ve been doing LOTS of things that are not “on the list”.

We had expectations and a list of things we wanted to do here; we did have an actual list. But we’ve veered far from it now. 

That’s ok. We’ve learned so much. We’ve met amazing people in this community who’ve helped us and connected with us. We’ve still thoroughly enjoyed our land, and that will only continue as we slowly make more and more improvements.

When you stray from the linear path and the checkboxes, you learn new things. It’s uncomfortable, but that’s where you grow. You correct your course, and maybe some magic happens that you didn’t ever anticipate.

In fact, this whole adventure has been “off the list” – the list of how things are supposed to go in the world of adulting. You know, that list that reads: study hard in school, meet a partner, get a job, have a kid, keep going on the treadmill, buy a nicer house and a nicer car and nicer stuff… repeat.

You don’t have to stick to this list, your self-imposed list, or anyone else’s list. You can do whatever you want that’s not on the list. And likely, you’ll benefit from the departure.