It happened fast.

There I was minding my own business, scanning the internet for an idea I was interested in. Already obsessed with backpacking and minimalism, I had successfully paired down my belongings to what could fit in a Nissan Versa (if I could somehow strap two dogs to the roof). I had been talking to my girlfriend about where I dreamed of living, where I said a small, square-ish cabin with a loft would be my ideal living space. Of course it was on some mountainous property with great scenery, and that's where I began to worry: I am broke. $40,000 in debt from mechanical engineering education in a shrinking job market.

So there I was minding my own business, putting off doing senior design work, and stumbled upon tiny houses. I saw the wheels and thought to myself "gross, that's too small. They must be high. I have dogs. I have backpacking equipment. I have..." 

Then I started to think. I thought it could happen. I drew design after design. With minimal effort, I got my girlfriend on board, which is still crazy to me. Then I realized the price of creating an off-grid home, and we thought "maybe a couple years down the road."

I could be dead in a couple years. To hell with that. Also I'm extremely impulsive. To double hell with that. My dad, who is basically carpenter Jesus, suggested finding a low cost camper to convert. I told him I was too obsessed with exterior beauty to go that route. Then I realized he was right, and got to crackin' on finding something beautiful on the outside (or at least so retro it's mind-numbing).

From the get-go, Airstreams were my main squeeze. It reminded me of locomotives, planes, like something so modern it's always going to be a classic (or the other way around?). For two months I texted to receive discouraging replies, called weird old dudes, and e-mailed people that I found out were straight scammers. I had only one Airstream in the Midwest I thought could work for the price. As the summer creeped closer to July, I knew the prices were only going up, so I took a break. I looked at converting buses, RVs, shipping containers and whatever wasn't an Airstream. 

Then someone texted me back. He had lowered the price, and was going to move across the country in a week. My girlfriend and I drove only an hour to see it, and we loved it. I played it cool by waiting to text him the next day, and in a week we had an Airstream in storage just begging to be given some love and attention. 

So here we are. A cheap, realistic middle step between being apartment-dwelling college students and tiny house owners. I realize that if I hadn't been so persistent on contacting everyone with an Airstream for sale, even when I knew it was a longshot, I wouldn't have gotten the deal I had. When you're stranded, the best direction is any direction that isn't standing still.