Too Poor to Dream?
/By Charlsie Shaver, produced by Out There Podcast
Released on Sept. 8, 2022
Welcome to Out There Podcast. Our stories are written for the ear, so for those able, we recommend listening while reading along. Transcripts may contain minor errors; please check the audio before quoting.
WILLOW BELDEN: So I’m curious: have any of you been feeling a little blue about the end of summer? I know I have.
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(Out There Theme music plays - guitar plucking chords, wistful whistling)
Hi, I’m Willow Belden, and you’re listening to Out There, the podcast that explores big questions through intimate stories outdoors.
I wanted to start today by sharing something that a listener said about us. This is from a review on Apple Podcasts, and this person said - quote - “Willow’s stories and interviews always give me a sense of calmness, almost like the feeling I have when I’m in the wilderness.”
Thank you so much to whoever left this review. Feedback like that means a lot to me. And these kind of reviews also make a big difference to us as a show, because they help new listeners find us.
If Out There brightens your day at all, consider leaving a review of your own, wherever you’re listening right now. Thank you so much.
(Theme music ends)
This season is called Nature’s Nostalgia. Each episode, we’re sharing award-winning narratives and beloved fan favorites from the early days of Out There.
The idea for tooday’s story came from an email I got a few years ago. A listener named Charlsie Shaver wrote to me, and she said she wished we would include a wider array of income levels on the podcast.
She said - and I’m quoting here - “As someone who isn’t even remotely close to middle class, much less upper middle class, it can be discouraging to constantly hear about people who quit their well-paying jobs to pursue a life of adventure, who trade in the house for a van, who have the luxury of taking some time off to figure out what new direction they want to take their life.”
Charslie went on to say - “For every person you hear about who quits their day job to pursue a life of freedom on the road, there are likely a dozen more of us trying to scrape together enough money for groceries. For every inspirational Instagram post that talks about setting aside your fears and just getting out there… there are those of us with $17 in the bank thinking, ‘I can’t even get to the nearest campground with that.’”
I remember sitting at my computer, reading this email, and thinking - Wow, she is so, so right. We totally need stories on the show, about those kinds of situations.
So I asked Charlsie if she’d be interested in doing a story for Out There.
And she said yes.
Today, we’re sharing that story. It’s a story that first aired in 2019. It’s about trying to dream, when you’re struggling to make ends meet.
I’ll let Charlsie take it from here. And just FYI, there is a little adult language in this episode.
CHARLSIE SHAVER: Several months ago, I bounded out of bed bright and early. It was a beautiful, sunny morning, after two weeks of rain, and I had been looking forward to this day for what seemed like an eternity. What was the big occasion, you ask? I was going on a hike.
(Music plays, slow piano)
It had been months since I had gotten out of the city, and after being cooped up in the house over an unusually wet and dreary winter, I was ready to go. I grabbed my camera, hopped into my truck and started east.
My goal was Big Branch Marsh National wildlife refuge, a collection of marshes and pine savannas on Lake Pontchartrain’s north shore. It’s just under an hour’s drive from New Orleans. I crossed the lake and turned north on a state highway, but as I came to a stop at a red light, my truck shuddered and my service engine light started flashing.
(Piano fades out)
Before I knew it, the truck hiccupped and died. She started right back up again but continued to shake. I was only fifteen minutes from my destination, but I worried about the cost of possibly having to be towed back to New Orleans from so far away. It had taken me a month of scraping together my change just to save enough gas money to make it out here. Getting towed all the way back home would mean credit card debt, not to mention the cost to diagnose and fix whatever this new problem was.
(Music plays, suspenseful piano)
I deliberated until the light turned green, and then I turned around and headed back to the city.
I have to admit, I cried. It wasn’t just the day’s hike being canceled that brought forth the tears; the truck acting up was yet another setback, after two years of some of the hardest financial struggle I had ever experienced. In just two years time, I had gone from road tripping around the US, to being stuck in the city, barely able to get out even on a simple day hike.
How did I get here? How did I develop such a deep and immense love for the outdoors, but end up in a spot where I find it almost impossible to spend a quiet night camped under the stars every once in a while?
(Piano fades out)
I’ve always loved running around outside, but my family wasn’t into hiking or camping. My family wasn’t into much of anything, to be honest. I grew up with a single dad and he, like most of the adults where we lived, struggled to make ends meet. There were no summer vacations, getting a job was all about practicality and chances were, if you knew someone who was living in a van, it probably wasn’t by choice.
My living situation was pretty stable compared to some of my friends’. I didn’t have to worry about the electricity being cut off or suddenly not having a place to live, but there wasn’t money for extras. From a young age I got used to hearing, “No, we can’t afford that,” and “That’s for rich people, not for us.”
I learned not to ask if we could go on vacation in the summer or even just camping on the weekend. To spend a weekend camping would've meant spending money on gas, and a campground fee.
(Music plays, melodic guitar)
But even without the luxury of weekend camping trips, I still loved the outdoors, even if that meant just running around in the backyard with my friends.
In my freshman year of high school, my interest in the outdoors began to grow even more. I found an old camera in the attic and fell in love with photography. And a few months later, we got a computer. I began spending rainy days surfing photography forums on the internet, and I became enamored with images of towering mountains, and sun-soaked deserts.
I knew that I wanted to see these places for myself someday. I started researching places to go in Arizona, then New Mexico, then my search landed me in Utah, and my world was upside down.
Over the years, I bookmarked websites and accumulated guide books and collected maps. Before I knew it, I had a two-to-three-month road trip planned, and I worked hard in my last year of high school to save up for the upcoming adventure.
(Music fades out)
But the stars were not to align that summer. I wanted to go see these places before starting college in the fall, but my friends, my family, pretty much everyone I knew dismissed my plans as crazy.
“You should be saving that money for college,” they told me, even though scholarships covered my school expenses. “Well we’d all like to throw away our responsibilities and just go on vacation,” they said, “but that’s not how life works.” I didn’t get it. I had worked hard for this, putting in hours at a part time job while still managing to graduate with honors from one of the top high schools in the state. I thought I had earned this trip, done everything I was supposed to do, but in the end the message was the same as it had always been: “That kind of life is not for people like us.”
(Music plays, somber piano)
I was used to hearing this sort of thing. I grew up in a place where people rarely take risks or stray from the traditional, well-trodden path. For most families, life was full of uncertainty. Will we have enough for rent? What about the electric bill? How are we going to afford school supplies and groceries?
To take risks, to follow your dreams, could land you and your family in a bad spot with lasting consequences. Stability was a premier luxury, a much-envied and coveted way of life that many could only dream of, and it was always the ultimate goal. Doing something risky like spending your hard-earned savings on a big vacation was a privilege reserved for a different segment of the population.
Over the years, I’ve found that this yearning for stability is deeply ingrained in my own mind, and it often conflicts with my desire for a life built around travel and adventure. It can be hard to want stability and freedom at the same time.
(Music fades)
When it came to my big summer road trip, I was too naïve, too unconfident, too ignorant of the larger world and all of its possibilities to go ahead with it, despite everyone's warnings.After a lifetime of hearing about all of the things that I “couldn’t” do, about all of the things that weren’t for someone like me, I believed what they told me. I can’t help but think that, had I gone out on the road that first summer, the entire course of my life would have been changed.
I would have seen people out there doing the jobs that I had always dreamed of, and even more that hadn’t even occurred to me yet. I would have seen that the life I wanted to live was real and attainable and that there were so, so many paths that I could take, all while getting paid to be outdoors in America’s wildest landscapes. I probably would have returned home, changed my major to biology and now be spending my days out in the deserts of Utah surveying plant communities and nerding out over the wildlife.
Instead, I spent the summer working at the same barbeque joint that I had worked at through high school.
(Music plays, slow guitar strumming)
I eventually used my road trip savings to move to New Orleans, and that’s when things started to change. It was in New Orleans that I met the person who would give me my first real taste of the outdoors.
It was five years since I had first given up on my summer road trip, and I was working for eight dollars an hour, part time at a garden center. I had lost my job at a seafood restaurant six months prior thanks to the Deepwater Horizon oil spill. Our tourist industry had tanked, restaurant jobs were few and far between, and the garden center was the first place in six months of job hunting to even offer me an interview. My savings were totally depleted. I took the job despite the long commute and low pay.
But that job was where I met Ben. Ben loved the outdoors as much as I did, and it seemed like a match made in heaven. The first year we spent together was one of the best years of my life. Ben had a world of privileges that I could never fathom. He had a dad who still paid his car insurance and cell phone bill, a grandmother who gave him gas money every week, and a mother who was often heard saying, “There’s some money in my wallet; just take whatever you need.”
“Whatever you need” could easily be a hundred dollars.
On top of it all, he had a job with the local outdoor retail chain, where he got big discounts on gear.
(Music fades out)
But for the two years that we were together, his love of the outdoors, his generous nature and, admittedly, his access to privileges that I didn’t have, made for an adventurous and fun life. We backpacked into the Smoky Mountains, where we saw rhododendrons in bloom. We hiked into the Ozarks and dove into the deep blue waters of a hidden swimming hole. We went out west to Utah for the first time, where I finally got to set foot in the deserts I had seen photos of so many years before. I smelled the unmistakable scent of juniper for the first time, and I saw Ben brought to tears at the beauty of Indian Creek.
He outfitted me with the gear that I would need to get out to remote places on my own two feet, and I still use all of that gear to this day. If it weren’t for his generosity, there’s no way I would be able to entertain the idea of going backpacking, of camping in the winter, or of taking my bike out on the trail.
Though my years with Ben ultimately ended, he opened my eyes to a world that I didn’t know existed. People actually got paid to go have fun outside all day. Who knew?
But getting a glimpse into this world of adventure didn’t immediately translate into running off to the west and getting a summer job in a national park.
(Music plays, somber guitar)
Once Ben and I broke up, it was back to barely scraping by, and even going on a simple day hike was often out of reach. Getting the funds together to move across the country and start a new career, seemed an insurmountable task.
Eventually though, I landed a job at a local city park, and I got to spend my days outside, tending to my beloved little plants, and watching the wildlife come and go. And for the first time in my life, I genuinely enjoyed my work days. It was the first real sense of stability and peace that I had ever had in my adult life.
The job at the park also offered some perspective. After years of working socially intensive jobs in the tourist industry, I had to come to terms with the fact that I’m pretty introverted. After only a few months at the park, I realized that six hours spent smiling and making small talk with hundreds of strangers in an air-conditioned restaurant was infinitely more exhausting than12 hours spent standing up trees in the August sun after a hurricane.
(Music fades)
Although I had found a happy medium at the park, this new realization gave me pause when I would start looking at jobs in the outdoor industry. I still dreamed of living in the mountains, but my view of what constituted working outdoors was pretty narrow.
I didn’t yet know that someone would pay me to hike out into the middle of nowhere to monitor vegetation plots or do water quality assessments, and even though I did a lot of physical labor at my job, I worried that I wouldn’t be able to keep up on a trail crew. Everyone I knew who lived the life I wanted worked as a guide, and as I scrolled past job listing after job listing, I questioned whether I was really cut out for it all.
“Do you love the outdoors?” the ads inevitably started out.
‘Yeah!’ I would think. ‘I really do!’
“Do you want to spend your days getting paid to be outside in America’s most beautiful landscapes!?”
Absolutely!
“Are you a people person? Do you thrive in an environment that requires an energetic, customer-focused individual who enjoys leading large groups?”
Oh, um… Not really. That actually kind of sounds like my worst nightmare. I would inevitably get discouraged and pack away the idea of moving for a while.
(Music plays, guitar)
After a few years at the park, I started to get restless. I wanted to make a change but I wasn't sure what direction I wanted to go in. I looked into going back into school for ecology, but I quickly realized that I could get a better education in another state. If I was going to give up the stability that I had, go back to the stress of working and going to school, and put myself into debt, it better be worth it.
(Music fades)
I tabled the idea for the time being. But the wanderlust didn't go away. I still perused google maps in my free time, and spent rainy days planning trips for the fun of it. And eventually I got a crazy idea in my head. For the first time in years, I opened a folder on my desktop titled “Southwest Roadtrip,” and I began to dream again.
I still didn’t quite believe that quitting my job and spending months on the road was something I was allowed to do, and if I'm going to be totally honest, by that point in my life I had kind of given up on the idea. Travel and extended road trips were just going to have to wait for retirement, right?
But when I asked myself, “Why not go?” I couldn’t come up with a good answer. I had a good job, and even though it still paid less than $20,000 a year, I was used to micro-managing every penny to make the most of it. I could potentially fund a trip if I was careful.
I was already taking on other gardening jobs on the side and putting all of that money into savings. And I had lucked into a ridiculously cheap apartment. I was in the best position I had ever been in to take such a big risk.
(Music plays, suspenseful piano)
Every excuse that I could find came back to one major point: fear. Fear of giving up the stability I had sought for so long and had finally gained. Fear of the unknown after the trip ended. Fear of all of those dire warnings I had grown up with.
(Music fades)
But ultimately, I decided to give it a shot.
Ten years after first giving up on my summer road trip, I quit my job, gave up my apartment and set off across the plains.
(Music plays, punchy upbeat guitar strumming)
It had taken three years of long work days, meticulous budgeting and an almost total lack of a social life, but I was out on the road.
Joining me was my boyfriend, Vince, who I’d been in a long-distance relationship with. I set aside a fund to get an apartment at the end, and figured we'd keep going until the rest of the money ran out.
The plan was to settle down somewhere out West when it was all over. Somewhere that I could go back to school and Vince could get a good job.
(Rock music swells, then fades)
So what happened? How did I end up back in New Orleans working as a gardener instead of somewhere else with a view of the mountains and a university worth paying for?
Vince initially threw out the idea of coming back here. He had visited me in New Orleans when we had been long-distance, and he had really liked it.
It may seem crazy that I agreed, after how much I’ve talked about wanting to start a new life somewhere else. But it’s almost no surprise to me that it worked out this way.
Back then, I hadn’t yet realized how the deeply ingrained beliefs that I grew up with were holding me back. I didn’t even really grasp that stability was what I was longing for, and that that longing was one of the biggest things preventing me from making a change in my life.
New Orleans had an allure of safety. It was a place where I knew I could start working immediately. I told myself that a few more years of stability would make us just that much more prepared to start a new life elsewhere. Just a few more years, right?
I was always waiting for just a little more certainty, for some magical moment when I’d suddenly feel prepared enough to allow myself to make a real change.
WILLOW: Hey, it’s Willow. We’ll hear the rest of the story in a moment. But first…
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WILLOW: That’s my colleague Jessica. She recently started using a product called AG1 — and she says it’s been a game changer for her digestive health.
JESSICA: I don’t know how to say this, but like I am very much more regular on days that I take it than I don’t.
WILLOW: The product she’s taking — AG1 — is a blend of 75 vitamins, minerals, whole-food sourced ingredients, probiotics, and more. It’s made by a company called Athletic Greens, which is one of our sponsors.
You just have to take one scoop a day, and that’s enough to support your gut health, your nervous system, your immune system, your sleep quality and recovery. Basically, it’s all-in-one nutritional insurance.
To make it easy, Athletic Greens is going to give you a free one-year supply of immune-supporting Vitamin D, and five free travel packs with your first purchase. All you have to do is visit athleticgreens.com/outthere. Again, that’s athleticgreens.com/outthere to take ownership over your health and pick up the ultimate daily nutritional insurance!
And now, back to the story.
CHARLSIE: The next two years were a roller coaster. I started my own gardening business, probably the riskiest thing I’ve done to date. I enjoyed it but didn’t make much the first year. I was living on barely $10,000, and Vince was having a hard time finding solid work. But even with the tight finances, I was feeling optimistic about the future.
Suddenly though, my cat racked up over $2,000 in vet bills, and then my truck racked up over $2,000 in repairs.
Every time I made headway on the vet bills or managed to finally put a little bit into savings, the truck would break down again or Vince would get laid off, and it just kept happening over and over again.
I worked harder than I ever had before. There were a few times where I worked several weeks in a row without a day off. I was getting up at the crack of dawn and often returning home after dark. But by the end of the year, despite all of my hard work, I had nothing to show for it.
(Music plays, suspenseful bass line)
The vet bills, the truck problems, Vince’s inconsistent work schedule, ate up every last penny. Although my business had grown and I made more than the previous year, I still ended the year with credit card debt, no savings, and a pretty pessimistic view of things.
My confidence was shot. I was exhausted, both physically and mentally, and I still had to face a winter with almost no financial cushion, no security.
(Music fades)
I desperately needed to get away from it all, even if that meant only a few hours spent out in a quiet forest, but that felt impossible. That whole world seemed further away than it ever had before.
Despite all of the optimism and success of the previous years, all of the old fears came flooding back like a tidal wave. Maybe everything I was told while growing up was true. Maybe I was asking too much. Maybe my life was good enough.
But I ask myself, is it ok to want more than “good enough”? Because if we’re going to be totally honest, the fact is that I do. I’ve spent years at a time over the past decade making do with walks around the neighborhood and watching the sunset from my stoop. I’m all about making the most of where you’re at now, and admitting that where I’m at now isn’t enough, especially when I’ve had a roof over my head and food in my belly the whole time, comes with a pretty big dose of guilt.
I’ve spent the last decade surrounded by some of New Orleans’ most poverty-stricken neighborhoods. I may be broke, I may be stressed about money all the time, but when it comes down to it, I lead an incredibly privileged life. Wanting more leaves me wondering if I'm really just being greedy.
(Music plays, somber guitar chords)
But am I really being greedy if I want to get out to a place where I’m unlikely to run into more than a handful of other people? Am I asking too much if I want to get away from the traffic and the exhaust and breathe some fresh air? We hear all the time of studies that show that being in nature is good for your mental health. Am I allowed to strive for that?
And getting out for a day hike somewhere quiet or spending a night in my tent, those are pretty small goals. What if I want to dream big? Is that ok? Am I allowed to dream of taking a road trip again or thru hiking a long trail or visiting another country? Do I even dare mention my desire to make a living from my creative skills?
(Music fades)
As much as we criticize social media and caution others against comparing their lives to the polished pictures we see on Instagram, I have to say, being able to check in on the van life movement and other outdoor communities has really opened my eyes to a world of possibilities. I always knew that people had cool seasonal jobs aside from guiding positions, but it was a hazy gray area where I still didn’t really know what my options were or how to even go about learning more.
I always knew that people made a living from their creative talents, but I didn’t see how my limited skills could compete. Having my world opened to thousands of people living this life and seeing all of the unique ways in which people have made that possible has flipped a switch in my head. Suddenly, I see hundreds of opportunities to get paid to hike out into the middle of nowhere and nerd out over plants. Even more amazing, the idea of being a traveling photographer feels totally real. I stopped thinking of my dreams and aspirations as whimsical fantasies, and started viewing them as business opportunities.
(Music plays, slow melodic guitar)
For the first time in my life I have a clear picture of where I want my life to go over the next few years and the steps that I need to take to get there. And more importantly, I feel like I can achieve it.
Granted, this wave of optimism and confidence is coming from a place of unprecedented stability in my life. If you had asked me last year if any of these things were feasible for me, I would have given you a resounding NO! I was working so much just to keep us afloat that I barely had time to cook a meal in the evening. How on earth was I supposed to carve out time in my day to go take pictures or sit down and write when I barely had time to eat and sleep?
Taking the time to hone skills that I hoped would one day lead to a career change would have meant possibly not having enough to pay the rent. That was a luxury I just couldn’t afford at the time.
(Music ends)
But after two years of struggle, we seem to finally be coming out of it. Vince has finally found consistent work, and the pay is good. The universe has allowed me to actually hang onto the money that I’m always squirreling away into savings, and my business has reached a level of consistency and stability that, in theory, should allow me to cut back the hours a bit and devote more time to my life outside of work.
So now I have to ask myself, am I going to let history repeat itself? Or am I going to take advantage of this moment of opportunity and start making strides towards something new?
(Music plays, inspirational piano)
I have accepted the fact that we will be living here in New Orleans for the next two years while Vince finishes an apprenticeship. But instead of feeling stuck, I am seeing all of the ways that I can make the most of this time.
So was it really that simple? All this time, did I just have to tell myself that the things I wanted were valid, and that it’s ok to pursue that path? Life is rarely that easy. There were large stretches of time when no amount of giving myself permission would have really changed the circumstances. When you only have $20 left in your bank account at the end of every month, you simply can’t afford to move across the country or make a major career change. At times in my life when the finances have been the tightest and the outlook was most grim, it was often some circumstance out of my control that gave me just enough of a break to start getting ahead again.
I wish I could sit here and tell you that every success, every time I’ve bounced back from some major setback, was solely a product of my own hard work and determination, but if we’re going to be honest here, it often just feels like dumb luck.
(Music ends)
But looking back over the last decade I also can’t deny, there were times when I had the chance to create the life that I wanted, and I didn’t go for it. It would have meant taking big risks, and I erred on the side of caution and stability instead.
Making a big change in your life rarely comes without the discomfort of uncertainty, fear and a certain amount of risk. But if I’ve learned anything over the last few years, it’s that you have to allow yourself to take the risk when you have the chance, because circumstances may not always be in your favor. It’s not always as simple as giving yourself permission, but sometimes, allowing yourself to dream makes all the difference.
(Music plays, country fiddle and guitar duo)
WILLOW: That was Charlsie Shaver. Her story first aired in 2019.
These days, Charlsie is still in New Orleans. Getting out on the road full-time didn't happen, but she's started a native plant nursery, and now hiking is a part of her job. She has a more optimistic view of the future, and she looks forward to building a life where she can get outdoors as part of her job at home and travel during the slow season. You can find her on Instagram @chickadeenatives and @mydestinyisunbound.
(Music swells, concludes)
Coming up next time on Out There, we’re going to go out into the woods with someone who’s brand new to hunting.
(Sound of a spray bottle spritzing liquid)
SAM ANDERSON: So what are you doing here?
SAM’S DAD: Spraying fox piss on this wick.
SAM: Uh, it smells like…
SAM’S DAD: What’s it smell like?
(Sniffing)
SAM: Smells like shit.
SAM’S DAD: It’s not that bad.
SAM: It’s pretty bad.
WILLOW: What makes someone a hunter? Do we all have it in us to pull the trigger? And if so, what does that say about us?
Tune in on September 29th to hear that story.
(Music plays, ambling guitar)
If you’re enjoying Out There, please leave us a review on Apple Podcasts, or wherever you’re listening right now. Seriously, pause the episode and do it right now. Five-star ratings and kind words from listeners like you make a huge difference to independent podcasts like us, because they help new listeners find the show.
If you’ve already left a review, thank you so much.
(Music fades)
I’d like to give a big shout out to all of our patrons, including Jeff Goeke-Smith, Simon Martin, Eric Biederman, Phil Timm, Doug Frick, Tara Joslin, and Deb and Vince Garcia. Patrons are listeners who support Out There with monthly financial contributions. Basically, they make it possible to produce this podcast.
If you’re not yet a patron, and you’re interested in hearing more about it, click the link in the episode description or go to patreon.com/outtherepodcast.
Support for Out There comes from PeakVisor. PeakVisor is an app that helps you make the most of your adventures in the mountains.
You can use their 3D maps to plan out trips. You can sign up for one of their peak-bagging challenges to keep you motivated. You can keep track of your accomplishments with their logbook. And when you’re out somewhere and want to know what you’re looking at, you can use their app to find out the names of all the mountains you’re seeing.
If you’d like your own personal mountain guide, check out PeakVisor in the app store. You just might love it.
(Out There Theme music plays - guitar plucking chords, wistful whistling)
If you’re new to Out There, check out the Best of Out There playlist. This is a collection of some of our favorite episodes of all time — and it’s a great introduction to the range of stories we do on the show. You can find Best of Out There on Spotify, and at our website - outtherepodcast.com.
Today’s story was written and narrated by Charlsie Shaver. Story editing and sound design by me, Willow Belden. Out There’s advertising manager is Jessica Taylor. Our audience growth director is Sheeba Joseph. Our ambassadors are Tiffany Duong, Ashley White, and Stacia Bennet. And our theme music was written by Jared Arnold.
Have a beautiful day, and we’ll see you in three weeks.
(Music swells, concludes)
