The Day the Universe Sent Me Lynn and Blue Sky RV Park
After yesterday’s horror movie—roach-infested, cat-pee-and-cigarette-scented hotel room (10/10 do not recommend)—I thought the universe had officially given up on me. I mean, sure, the front desk girl was an angel, but even angels can’t deodorize Eau de Roach Motel.
But then… he appeared.
His name? Lynn.
His superpower? Backing up a trailer like he had RV fairy dust in his pocket.
I watched this man reverse my 35 feet of chaos into place in one smooth, beautiful motion. No pulling forward, no awkward zig-zags, no screaming at imaginary spotters—just one clean shot. Honestly, it was artwork. I stood there in awe like I was watching a Bob Ross painting, only instead of “happy little trees,” it was “happy little trailer angles.”
The universe, apparently feeling guilty for the roach circus it threw me into, decided to toss me a bone. Lynn not only slid my rig in like a pro, he’s patching my leaky roof AND offered to give me reversing lessons over the next month. Basically, I’m enrolled in Trailer Backing Bootcamp, where graduation means I no longer wipe the whole raid party (aka campground) when I try to park.
While waiting for parts, Lynn rigged me up so I wouldn’t leak in the meantime (seriously, who is this man?), and I headed for Blue Sky RV Park. My state park adventures are officially on pause until I learn how to back up without looking like a noob trying to parallel park in GTA—a lot of chaos, maybe a few imaginary pedestrians in danger, and definitely too much cussing.
When I walked into the Blue Sky office, I was greeted by two women who I swear were my fairy godmothers in disguise. They listened to my sob story, gasped and awed at all the right places, and then sprinkled actual fairy dust by giving me a two-month stay for the price of one. Thoughtful, kind, generous—and exactly what I needed.
And let me tell you, this spot is perfection. Tree cover, a grassy patch, plenty of space for my gazebo and the dog fencing—basically the spa treatment of RV sites. For the first time in days, I could breathe.
I unhitched like a champ, leveled side to side, got electric and water hooked up… and then immediately gave up. I collapsed into my recliner, marinating in my own sweat and filth under the sweet, sweet AC vent. As I lay there, I whispered a little prayer to the universe for rain.
And I am not shitting you—it literally started sprinkling and thundering. Freaky cosmic response? Random coincidence? Don’t know, don’t care. I’ll take it either way.
Once it quits raining, reality sets back in: I still need to finish leveling, stabilize, set up my poop shoot, and empty out my truck. It sounds like a whole raid boss fight right now, especially since my body feels like it’s on fire from this lupus flare. So I just keep chanting to myself: you can do it, you can do it, just a little bit more… then you can collapse for a month (or two). Thank you, fairy godmothers.
And here’s the truth: all of these life changes are terrifying and hard. But nothing good comes easy, and it’s all about the journey. I could do what I’ve always done—sit at home and tell myself I can’t do it, or that I can’t do it alone because I have lupus, because I’m overweight, because my knees and hips ache from the pain. Honestly, telling myself “I can’t,” and hearing my soon-to-be ex-husband say “you can’t,” only made me dependent, stuck, and miserable. Lupus already tries to limit me—I don’t need to limit myself too.
So yes, this is hard and it hurts—but I’m proud. I’m out here, I’m doing it, and I’m going to make this journey count.
I’ve seen so many influencers glorify this RV lifestyle, and yes, there are days when it really is that dreamy. But a little over a month in, I can tell you there are plenty of days that are not Instagram-worthy. And that’s okay—it’s all part of the experience. Yes, I sometimes look like a complete idiot (which is hard for me). Yes, I have to ask for help (which is also extremely hard for me). But damn—this is an adventure I will never forget.
Lessons of the Day:
Roaches build character (but also trauma).
Fairy godmothers sometimes work the RV park front desk.
The universe has a messed-up sense of humor—but sometimes it delivers.
AC vents are holy places. Worship accordingly.
Poop shoots are not glamorous, but they are mandatory.
Lupus may slow me down, but it doesn’t get to stop me.
Influencers may sell the dream, but the bloopers are where the real story is.
Asking for help is not weakness—it’s strategy.
Every storm eventually passes (sometimes with bonus thunder sound effects).
Honestly, all you need is a Lynn in a baseball cap with a tool belt, and the world feels a whole lot less impossible.
