We were recently introduced at a gathering as “sojourners,” and that pleased my inner word nerd because it’s a term that isn’t used so very often, and it carries with it a sense of romanticism and history.
Also? I’m pretty sure nobody’s ever called us that before.
And then I got to wondering about wandering. What makes a sojourner different from any other type of person on the move?
Based on my travels from one online dictionary to another (see what I did there?), the meaning hinges more on the destination than on the journey — which seems odd, because the “journ” part is right there inside the word.
A sojourn is defined as a brief or temporary stay, thus sojourners are people who spend a short time in one place.
That’s not an inaccurate way to describe us. Between stints as sojourners, we are travelers — or nomads, wanderers, vagabonds, itinerants, and/or peripatetics. Maybe even pilgrims or hobos, depending on our purpose, and how long it’s been since we last showered and changed clothes.
No matter what you call us, or what we call ourselves, I have a feeling that completing our 2020 Census form might be a little tricky.
I’ve taken a look at the Census Bureau’s proposed questions, and those involving residence do include “mobile home” as an option, but it’s clear from the list of responses that they mean the kind of mobile home that stays in one place. (“Hello, we’re from the government. Have you experienced an oxymoron today?”)
Anyway, I’ve lifted a few images from the document linked above, and I think you’ll see pretty quickly that in some cases, we’re just gonna have to choose whichever answer is least untrue.
Our home is owned with a loan, but we also pay rent in the form of campground and RV park fees — unless we’re boondocking or work camping, and then we don’t pay rent at all. And what about the rent we pay for our storage unit?
Shit. Next?
Do I measure the size of our current RV site?
The acreage of the entire park?
18b is an easy no, and 19 makes me want to ask, “Wait. How much is it worth? Or how much would we actually get for it? Because we have a proven track record of being shitty at selling things.”
Oy, this.
Yes to all!
Ummm, maybe?
It’s more like an auto loan, I guess. Monthly payments and all that.
Scrolling on…
A box with our name on it! Best I can tell, this is the only census response that allows for a dwelling that is not actually a building. Even though the question asks you to describe the building. Help!
Let me introduce you to our sole vehicle, a 1-ton dually we call the BFT.
OMG, we’re going to trigger all the federal alarms.
And the year it was built differs from its actual model year.
Do we even answer this question?
Sheeeesussssssss.
Even within this post I’ve wandered — from finding the definition of a single word, to trying to define our home, so that we can check the right box, while living a life that most people would describe as outside the box.
And yes, we will get our Census in the mail, at our official-on-all-the-things address, just like the rest of you. So they will find us. (See Question 9 in this post.)
But depending on where we are, how much fun we’re having, and when we actually call to have our mail forwarded that month, there may be a delay…
I believe *eventually* the US government will alter the census to include us (oh, and here’s a wordsmith gem) peripatetic travelers. After all, tens of thousands (my estimate) of us exist, and the trend is growing. Then they’ll still be challenged with distinguishing between full-time and stationary, a distinction even RVers as a group find sticky.
Hee hee. I used peripatetic.
I certainly hope the government figures it out. But I suppose I have to give them a little leeway, as I myself can’t even answer “Where are you from?” with a single sentence. I live on Facebook. Can Facebook be an answer?