Yesterday, we drove through a snow storm that began at 32 degrees in Las Cruces, New Mexico, and ended up in Tucson, Arizona at 73 degrees. The landscape changed every thirty minutes. 

 

There is hope in change.

 

On travel days, I drive with Chloe in our car, and Tim and Lilly travel on the bus. Because of the bus’s limited speed, Chloe and I arrive at our destination first and check in and find out where we are parking so that we can guide Tim to our allocated spot. I know, it’s a great system, right?

 

I was so grateful this morning when I heard that Tim had opted for a chain RV park. Our budget has been shot to smithereens because of our many rookie moves and Tim’s desire to stick to our plan that we live in abundance in 2019. I say, abundance on a budget. The budget isthe one thing I’m trying to hang on to. It’s where my control is focused. I mean, a focus like a hawk on its prey—a surgeon on its organ—you get it.

 

I drive up to the line where it states to check-in, and walk into the registration office.

 

“Your remaining balance is $105, ma’am.”

 

“So, we didn’t pay anything prior to?” I asked. Tim usually either pays a deposit online or is asked to pay the total. We’re staying in Tucson for two nights. We drive no more than four hours at a time and are making our way slowly to Los Angeles for our next event. 

 

“No, ma’am, a “Tim” paid a $105 deposit and $105 is owed.”

 

“Do you mean to tell me that it is $105 per night?” I say in a not very calm voice.

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“Is it a special location? Like does it offer any upgrades?” 

 

The young man showed me the map and there was no fancy coloring on the diagram where the RVs park. Ours was clear. Some sites that were covered were shaded yellow, fireplace sites were shaded in orange, deluxe pet friendly sites in deep blue, but ours was clear. 

 

“Why is it so expensive? Unless you’re coming in to clean our bus and turn down our bedding at night, I’m not paying it.” I know I’m not being gracious and I understand we are lucky enough to have the money to stay at such overpriced parks, but Oh, dear Lord, I don’t understand why anything to do with an RV could cost so much!

 

Here’s the thing, this place has a pool, wi-fi (which believe me is priceless,) a fitness center and a safe, beautiful place to park our bus. These are all qualities our family wants in an RV park, but I have my budget mapped out by the dollar. Yes, by the dollar. The budget is the one thing I’ve counted on not to move—not to change—to have control over—and yet here we are.

 

“I understand, ma’am, but there were no more regular sites left at our typical $66 per night.”

“So, you’re charging me more because you can?” My one last ditch effort to make my reality abide to my budget.

“Mommmm,” Chloe said from behind me. This is her code word for “calm down.” 

As it turns out, this particular RV park in Tucson is quite the sort after location. Our RV parking spot isn’t fancy enough to get a color, but for our extra $40 per night we get a place nearby for our dog Pricilla to poop. Well, at least someone gets to poop.

  

It’s as if the Universe is insisting that I let go. Let go. Let go, Robyn. Change can’t happen in a tight grip.