I removed and discarded The Tiny’s propane tank because it is of no use to me. Why? I wrote about it here. That created a big, juicy storage space for me to use. Oh happy day! That’s like adding a walk-in closet to a brick and mortar home. It’s a BIG deal!
Because the “bucket” where the tank lived with its step-sister from another mister (the battery) has no bottom other than the round bracket the tank sat in, I would need to devise some kind of storage container to set in there and start filling up. And I had to do it quickly because I was breaking camp the next day (today).
Would I want a plastic pail? A tall pail? A short pail so I could place a short basket on top? Would I want a big crate? Four small crates?
I headed over to Ace Hardware and see what they had.
As I was driving, the thought crossed my mind that whatever I purchased would probably be wrong in the long term. I would probably figure out something more suitable later on, and replace what I was about to purchase, which would likely end up someday soon next to a dumpster.
In other words, my first try outfitting the bucket area will be a “failure.” This is based on the past 16 months of full-time micro-living in The Tiny. Nearly everything I started out doing, I’ve changed. I started with a U-shape dinette, and now I have a futon and desk. I started with a Coleman stove, then a rice cooker, then an electric fry pan, then a microwave oven, and now an air fryer. All of the first attempts could be considered failures, but they were in fact my university, my lesson plan, my course of self-discovery.
When I realized my first attempt at outfitting the bucket area would almost certainly be a failed attempt that needed a re-do, I had absolutely no negative feeling about that. It would be less than adequate, less than perfect, wrong, I would learn, I would make it right. That’s just fact. That’s not the measure of a person’s worth, but a road map of their evolution.
As a girl, I was afraid to fail. Trying something and failing negated any worth I felt I had, which was in fact none. I recall drawing a picture of some cabinets. I was younger than 9 because that’s when we moved from Mayall Street and my life got dark. It was in the Mayall Street house so I might have been 7. The perspective of the cabinet drawing was so amazingly accurate. I was shocked. I took it in and showed it to my parents. They were impressed. Then I tried to draw something else a few days later and showed my dad. He cut me down. It wasn’t good. I shriveled. Later as an adult I asked him about this. He told me he needed to nip my ambitions in the bud so I didn’t think I was something and then turn out to be nothing. He probably thought that me trying to do something and then failing would be worse than not trying at all. So that’s how I lived until I got sober at age 28. After that, I couldn’t stop myself from self-actualizing. I became undeniable to myself.
A few campgrounds ago, in February, when the fishing pond at Idyllwild had frozen over, I watched a group of boy scouts throwing rocks onto the surface of the ice. They were trying to figure out how big of a rock it would take to break through the ice. They confessed to walking on the ice to test it. It occurred to me that these boys will grow up with an understanding of the physical world, of gravity, and weight, and momentum. They won’t be like me, reading books about feelings, and then at age 63 taking off in small trailer with no sense of direction and being shocked over and over again by gravity and wind and friction and the speed with which the sun will degrade my awning. They won’t have to be shocked by these things. (However, they will likely be hard pressed to understand feelings.)
At Ace Hardware, I bought a tall pail for about $4.50 and a corresponding lid for about 3.50. That’s pretty expensive for what I know will be a failed attempt. But the attempt must be made for my experimentation, my learning, and for the right answer to come. I thought I’d be able to put gobs of stuff in there. But I ended up with only the large surge protector, the 30-ft., 30A cord, the 6-ft. water hose and a canister filter. On top of that I folded up the dirty tarp I had under my outdoor rug. Getting the tarp out of my rig or vehicle during travel was a bucket list item, literally.
Of course, there is a slim chance the pail and lid will be just perfect and I will have hit the jackpot first time out. But that would a fluke. That would not be normal for me. Either way it goes, I will end up with the perfect outfitting of the bucket space for my needs at this moment. I will enjoy the process. I will enjoy trying more configurations. And I will enjoy getting it just right. That is what I call sweet, sweet success.