Yet, now, as I close in on fifty, I’ve made an even more shocking discovery: I just don’t care. I’m learning that there is so much that is surprisingly, gloriously, wondrously liberating about the half-century mark. –> Read the whole story.

When Tim announced he wanted to travel around the country in a converted bus for a year, I gave this profound and potentially life-altering notion all the thoughtful consideration it deserved.

“Why can’t you be like a normal husband with a midlife crisis and have an affair or buy a Corvette? I will never, ever, EVER, not in a million years, live on a bus.”

We’re shrinks, but Tim’s obviously the better one, because something less than a million years later, I shocked us both and agreed to set forth with our two cats who hate each other, a sixty-pound dog who loves licking us all, my 200 shoes – and no agenda. Could this boisterous marriage of polar opposites and their dysfunctional furry family survive (even thrive?) 24/7 in 340 square feet for a year?

Other than the fact that we’re both psychiatrists, I doubt you could find a more disparate pair. I’m a self-proclaimed Long Island princess, grouchy couch potato, and shoe addict. Tim’s an affable, though driven, outdoorsman. I’d never even realized how strange my love of the great indoors was until one February, when I heard Tim talking to a neighbor in our yard. I poked my head out the door to say hello.

“Doreen! It’s nice to see you!” she exclaimed, as if I were a burn victim, finally emerging from the hyperbaric chamber. Tim, of course, couldn’t resist singing out, “Guess it’s six more weeks of winter!”

Although Tim still refuses to divulge how he got me to agree to live on a bus for a year (I shudder to think what he’ll get me to do next), his powers of persuasion didn’t end when we hit the road. Oh, no. Although as a psychiatrist he is very much in tune with unconscious drives, hidden meanings, and deep-seated motivations, he is also a typical guy. And typical guys want to go to nudist resorts. Not being any type of a guy myself, I had always informed him I would never, ever, EVER, not in a million . . . Oh, what’s the use? By now I had clearly lost any semblance of free will. I was, after all, living in a bus. I didn’t stand a chance.

In California, one place seemed particularly promising on the internet, so I called and asked if they were, indeed, clothing optional.

“No,” the lady unequivocally answered.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I must have the wrong information,” I apologized, hoping she didn’t think me some weirdo. But something in her voice made me query further.

“So . . . people don’t walk around naked?” I tried to confirm.

“Oh, yes, they do,” she answered. Is this place English optional, or what?

“Okay . . . but you’re not clothing optional,” I offered slowly, with impeccable pronunciation.

“No, we’re nudist,” she snapped. Well, excuuuuse, me.

“I’m not sure I know the difference,” I conceded. She explained that when inside the park, one is required to be naked. Now I got it. It was the optional, not the clothing, that was the problem with the whole clothing optional thing. Who knew? I proceeded with what I thought was a perfectly reasonable follow-up question.

“Can I wear shoes?” She guffawed, muzzled the phone, and called out to some other nudity-requiring linguiphile, “She wants to know if she can wear shoes!” For those as clueless as I, the answer is yes. I decided she could keep her shod-optional accommodations and found a different park.

As millions of baby boomers have reached middle age, they’ve reflect back on their lives, as well as looked ahead to what retirement will bring. QUEEN OF THE ROAD is my tale about refusing to settle; about choosing the unconventional road with all the misadventures it brings (fire, flood and armed robbery, to name just a few). The marvelous places we visited (in forty-seven states, including Alaska) and delightful people we encountered had a life-changing effect on all the travelers: I became less materialistic (in spite of that never being one of my life goals), Tim’s Type A personality mellowed to a more decidedly manageable B+, and even the pets pulled together.

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Read about Doreen’s book – click here

[Editor’s postscript: Doreen is one proud woman. Not just because she wound her way through life for a year on a bus, but because her bus was actually featured as the centerfold of Bus Conversions Magazine, thus fulfilling a life-long ambition of becoming a Miss September.]