I set out for a life of full-time traveling 1,975 days ago. In those five and a half years, I can confidently and honestly say more has happened to me than in the nearly twenty before.
I’ve watched two baby boys born, one off the shores of the Columbia River and the other in the shadow of the Smoky Mountains. I’ve experimented with living in an RV and with no home at all, ridden trains across the continent and even snuck out of the US a few times. I’ve seen National Parks and small towns, lived in a Volkswagen Bus and a vintage Airstream. I found the love of my life, and we’ve barreled 75mph across the nation as often as we’ve taken it slow and learned to live somewhere just long enough to realize it was time to pick up and go. I’ve made a few close friends, and yeah, a few enemies, too.
At times the question of when will this all stop comes up. Family mostly, sometimes friends, wonder if we’ll ever just slow down, stop, settle in somewhere quiet. To say we won’t would obviously be a lie; at some point this may simply get old, we may find some perfect place, or some other circumstance may prevent us from traveling like we do. For now though, it’s my dream come true and I’m thankful every day it gets to keep being the first reality as I crawl out of bed.