Padre National Sea Shore

This brief trip to the coast wasn't so much impromptu as it was an act of desperation. After all, most of my decisions for the better part of 2023 have, ostensibly, been made with the goal of moving into my Prius and traveling for an undetermined amount of time... once A. moved in with his dad, and M. was safely ensconced in college, that is. However, since saying goodbye to M. and leaving both of my babes in the hands of The Great Unknown, I’ve let self-doubt and self-recrimination (the precursors to inertia and entropy) creep in. No… creep implies something that sneaks up on you… Something unseen and unexpected. This is more like a freight train–a freight train that can be seen coming from miles and miles [nay, years and years] away. 

Imagine a rural railroad crossing in the wilds of the Texas plains or in the isolated desert of the southwest. There is no crossing gate, no flashing lights, just a lonely road and railroad tracks stretching as far as the eye can see in both directions. I am an old junker of a car… a 1970s-era Plymouth of some sort, gold, 4-door. I am stalled half on, half off the tracks; my driver is nowhere in sight. I can hear the whistle of the far-off train. I can feel the vibrations on the tracks growing stronger. I can see it coming. Closer. Ever Closer. “Now what? Now what? Now what?” the voices loud and mocking in my head. Wonderings to ideas to plans to actions… and then whamo! 

In the movies, when the train hits the car, the camera blurs in and out of focus, the car itself goes flying, the contents roiling within before being crushed or thrown through broken windows. Shards of glass explode... the screech of metal reforming, violently reshaping itself into something grotesque and unrecognizable. Abandoned. Broken. Made helpless by the voices that are a freight train in my head.

Making Lemonade

If you’ve known me very long at all, you know that “stuck”, “abandoned”, “broken”, and "helpless" are not words that sit well with me… not for very long, at any rate. A burning bed of lava deep inside my soul refuses to let dogs of that particular nature lie for very long. A force within me has, for my entire life, fought back in the darkest depths of what I now understand to be mental illness. It takes me under. Frequency and duration vary, but it never lasts. A visceral awareness at my very core insists… I MUST LIVE.

So live I must. And in this year of our lord 2023, I must live fearlessly (more on this in a different post). Underprepared and ignoring the predicted inferno-like weather forecast (a 100°+ temperature and a bazillion percent humidity with strong off-shore winds weather advisory, no less! *insert maniacal laughter here*), I set off on my multi-day Prius Living inaugural trip to the Gulf Coast of Texas. Padre Island National Seashore, here I come!

Sunset

I lasted less than 24 hours.

Inital Setup

Did I drive my Prius onto the beach knowing there was a good chance my low-clearance, 2-wheel drive beauty might get stuck? Yes, yes, I did. Did I get stuck? Maybe (that’s a story best told in person). When the tow truck failed to arrive, did I get myself out and back onto solid ground? Yes, yes, I did. Did my portable battery die in the middle of the night, leaving me without a CPAP? Yes, yes, it did. Before going to bed, did I decide to abandon the whole car tent and window socks idea because I was miserably hot and every inch of me was coated in fine Gulf Coast sand? Yes, yes, I did. Did I use the Prius as the car-camping gods intended and leave it running all night on its regenerating battery so that I could have AC? Yes, yes, I did. Did I forget everything I thought I knew about car-camping in a Prius, including how to turn off all of the inside lights so the interior was lit up like the inside of a disco roller rink all night long? Yes, yes, I did. Did a raccoon try to break into my car at three different access points during the night for its own nefarious purposes? Yes, yes, it did. Was the sunrise over the Gulf Coast glorious and awe-inspiring? Glorious, yes. Awe-inspiring, not so much. Will I do it again? Attempt to camp/live out of my Prius? You betcha. Beach camping? Hard, hard pass. 

Zoom in for Proof of My Nighttime Visitor

It was a Determined Little Bugger

Further Proof of My Nighttime Visitor

So many things happened during those 18 hours.… so many things that could have brought the freight train hurtling back–me, stuck on those train tracks. So many things did not go in a way that gives me warm fuzzies about living in my Prius for any amount of time (much less as a primary residence). And, (not but… and) I learned. I use the term “learned” loosely. Learned in an ongoing sort of way. I don’t think I ever “learn” lessons finally… as in, one-and-done. I seem to always “learn” the same things over and over again, often from a new perspective and, perhaps… ideally, at a deeper level. [I have a lot of thoughts on the idea of failures vs. setbacks and in a larger context, black & white thinking, that I hope to share at some point.]

I am processing what went wrong and how I can make it right enough to support a Prius Living Adventure. I am cautiously undeterred.

Proof That I Was There