Off-Gridish

“That’s not a word.”

“It is now.”

“You can’t just invent words.”

“Why not? Somebody invented all the other ones.”

“So what does Off-Gridish mean?”

“I’ll know when I know.”

I’ve spent enough time traveling and camping to learn there is a difference between being prepared and bringing everything I might conceivably need.

When you’re starting out, it’s easy to pack for what if.

What if it rains? What if it gets cold? What if this breaks? What if I need that?

Pretty soon you’ve packed your way right out of the space you were planning to live in.

Somewhere along the trails west, somebody probably looked at the family piano and said:

“But it fits.”

And maybe it did.

Until the trail got harder, the animals got tired, and somebody had to decide what actually mattered.

Air? Check.

Water? Check.

Food? Check.

Shelter? Check.

Piano?

Ahhhhh.

I loved that piano.

But you can’t eat a piano.

That’s more or less how I pack now.

Multifunctional and practical. Whatever that means.

It’s working for me.

Until it isn’t.

Things That Connect Other Things

I don’t necessarily organize gear according to what something is supposed to be. I tend to think about what it can do.

Binder clips are a good example.

Office supplies?

Sure.

They also successfully held my mosquito netting in place at camp.

In my world, they belong under Things That Connect Other Things.

Duct tape belongs there too. So do zip ties. Probably several objects whose proper names I don’t know.

I don’t need an Excel sheet.

I need to remember approximately where I put the damn things.

That’s Not Off-Grid

The same thinking applies to the bigger equipment I carry.

I travel with a portable power station, solar panels, a 12-volt fridge/freezer, a stove, and other modern equipment chosen specifically to make traveling independently more comfortable.

Someone could point out that this isn’t exactly “off-grid.”

Correct.

It’s Off-Gridish.

If my back needs an ice pack, I don’t get extra wilderness points for suffering because there isn’t a convenience store nearby selling ice.

My fridge/freezer can freeze an ice pack.

Problem solved.

If I want a campfire, I don’t have to prove my outdoor credentials by wandering into the woods looking for firewood. I found Duraflame Outdoor Firelogs that give me a convenient campfire, can be cooked over, and even crackle.

Music to my ears.

Could I do things the harder way?

Sometimes.

Do I need to prove it?

No.

What Earns the Space?

To me, independence isn’t about seeing how uncomfortable I can become before asking for help.

It’s about having enough of the right things to solve ordinary problems and continue enjoying the adventure.

And space matters.

You can watch organizing videos all day and admire the beautiful matching containers, color-coded labels, and perfectly arranged boxes of things somebody might need if something happens.

Then try fitting your life into a small camper or vehicle and taking it across the country.

Reality has different decorating standards.

You do the best you can with what you can fit.

Eventually the question changes from:

“Could I possibly need this?”

to:

“Does this earn the space it takes?”

That’s Off-Gridish.

Not primitive.

Not completely disconnected.

Not a contest.

Just prepared enough, comfortable enough, and independent enough to go have the adventure.

And if civilization collapses while I’m out there?

I own a very detailed book explaining how to survive it.

Unfortunately, it’s at home.

There wasn’t room in Wanderlust.

Get the duct tape.