When You Don’t Know What You’ll Do All Day | Week 29 Post-layoff

Intro

There’s this quiet fear people don’t talk about when they leave full-time work:

What if I don’t know what to do with my days?
What if I get bored? Unproductive? Lazy? Lost?

This week didn’t answer that question in one big epiphany.

It answered it in tomatoes, camper battles, bread baking, deep conversations, and spontaneous neighborly kindness.

And honestly, I think that’s the answer we needed.

The Tiny Camper Fiasco (Part 2)

We tried. Twice.

Sunday and again on Wednesday, we attempted to store our camper in its new 10x20 unit in the community. Both times, we lost. The entry was too steep. The boards we tried using for ramps weren’t enough.

We ended up parking our teeny tiny camper among full-size RVs—and it looks hilariously out of place.

But both days, someone showed up.

On Wednesday, it was a neighbor who came out of her garden with tomatoes and cucumbers and offered them to us. Bryan used them to make a salad, took some over to her, and talked for an hour before finishing our storage shuffle.

The lesson? Even camper fails can grow community.

This Isn’t Retirement. It’s Reinvention.

I saw a post this week by @middlemiles that stopped me in my scroll. It said:

“Having purpose doesn’t mean having a packed schedule.
It means waking up with something to look forward to.”

I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

Because while we’ve stepped away from full-time work, we haven’t stopped working—we’ve just started doing it differently.

We’ve retired from the pressure of being busy all the time.

This week, we didn’t have a fully mapped-out agenda—but we had:

• Home-baked bread with tuna salad
• Conversations with new neighbors about travel vans and life paths
• Free grape tomatoes from the community garden
• A few hours with a former coworker, reconnecting after seven months
• Cat barf on the bed (humbling but real) requiring an unplanned laundromat visit
• Deep cleaning the tiny house (which, by the way, takes less than 1/4 the time of our old one)
• A visit from Bryan’s childhood friend for a few hours of fishing and reminiscing
• And time to think, write, and plan what we want our next chapter to look like

It wasn’t a week full of goals. But it was full.

The A-Ha Moment I Didn’t Expect

A resident here needed help with her Etsy store and was frustrated with her computer. I offered to take a look—and a two-hour session later (mostly spent chatting and getting to know each other), we had fixed the problem and made a new connection.

What surprised me was this subtle urge I had to speed it up. To solve it and get back to my “list.”

It felt like old muscle memory from my work life—the triage mindset, the “what’s next” feeling.

I had to remind myself: there is no next meeting, no to-do list that owns my time anymore.

This was the thing.

Time to talk.
Time to listen.
Time to know someone.

And this realization hit hard:

I’ve been so used to rushing that I need to retrain myself to slow down.
To live like a person, not a project manager.
To remember that people are the purpose—not just the pause between tasks.

Living Among Like-Minded People

It’s been a gift to live in a community where many people are walking a similar path.

Tiny home dwellers. Camper lifers.

People who’ve downsized not just their stuff—but the speed of their lives.

The van tours.
The garden produce.
The “do you need help with that?” moments.
The slow build of trust.

We’re starting to feel that we’re not just passing through—

we’re becoming part of something.

Looking Ahead

Our tiny house will be ready next month. A new chapter is coming, and with it, new decisions and routines.

But for now, we’re learning to live without everything mapped out.

We’re discovering a new kind of purpose—one that shows up in daily rhythms, not project plans.

And honestly?

Not knowing where the rest of the day will take us feels pretty amazing.

If You’re Wondering What to Do With Your Days…

Maybe don’t start with a five-year plan.

Start with a garden tomato.

Start with cleaning the kitchen.

Start with a walk in nature.

Start with something that brings you back to yourself.

The rest will meet you there.

—Kathy & Bryan

P.S. If you're navigating job loss or transition, know this:
Sometimes, losing your job is exactly what you need to find your life.

Follow Our Journey

This post is part of our Midlifehood Transition series, documenting our journey from traditional homeowners to tiny home living after an unexpected layoff.

Follow along for real-time updates as we move into our permanent tiny home next month on Facebook and Instagram as we navigate this life change together.

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