My Story of Launching into Full-Time Travel
If someone wants to travel full-time, here’s my advice. “Just do it. Go!”
Of course, I’d clarify first. You have to really have the travel bug to do this. If this is a whim whipped up from a few Instagram pics you saw a few days ago, don’t do it. If you’re someone who likes creature comforts like running water and your own washing machine, wait until you have the budget to make those things a guarantee.
For everyone else, here’s how my partner and I did it.
We made the decision and committed to making it happen.
Simple?
Yes and no.
People wax lyrical on the “before” version of them, the “loser” that couldn’t take it anymore, and needed to change. I was many of those things, plus burned the f*ck out.
I had the constant pressure of anxiety lodged in my chest. I was tired, stressed, and unfulfilled. I couldn’t wait until the end of the day when it meant I could pour myself a glass (or two) of red wine.
Life presents us with so many possibilities and experiences, and I craved a chance to reconnect to that magic and joy. As someone who’s always delighted in travel and snatched every opportunity to get away, my thoughts automatically landed on some kind of full-time adventure.
But how?
The decision was made on the Freeway. It was spring of 2020, and I was in the passenger seat. The windows were rolled down halfway, and my hair whipped around my face. Exuberant and free like one of those air dancers at a used car lot.
“What if we actually do it?” my boyfriend said, his voice raised so I could hear him over the wind and wheels. “Quit our jobs, sell the house, and travel full-time?”
Over the next year, we did just that. Sold the house and parted with over 95% of our things.
Our travel dream was simple: we wanted it to be sustainable, which meant keeping it as low-budget as possible. We moved in temporarily with my mom — somewhat awkward when you’re freshly 40 — grateful for the opportunity to save.
When it was time to buy our new home, we drove 12 hours up the coast to Portland Oregon and bought it with cash.
At 98 square feet, our new home is a 14-foot cargo trailer intended to haul side-by-sides.
I stood inside the windowless raw plywood box my boyfriend promised we’d be able to transform into a cozy abode. The air, warm and stuffy from a day spent baking in the sun, smelled faintly like the wood aisle at Home Depot. I pictured us all living there, including our extra large dog Elvis and cat Charlie — huge in the personality department. Oh, the adventures we’d have. Though it still seemed distant, I felt the shimmer of possibility.
We spend most of our time “boondocking,” camping for free for up to 14 days on public land. We use solar panels for power, and either filter our water from rivers and streams or fill gallon jugs at gas stations and grocery stores.
At first, it was an adjustment. We braved snow and below freezing temps in Colorado with flickering candles as our only heat source. Sat trembling in Kansas under black skies exploding and sizzling as they shook with thunder and lightning directly overhead, emergency alert tornado warnings blaring from our phones.
Yet, throughout this whole experience, I’ve remained so incredibly grateful. Over and over, I thank myself for having the courage, stupidity — whatever you want to call it — to escape the monotony and try something new. I realize how easily I could have missed this, to the point that my emotion swells, and I’m flooded with immense relief. I’ve never felt so alive, and there’s not a single point in the day that I dread. What a luxury.
There are challenges — there will always be challenges. However they pale in comparison to the old daily struggle, the monotony of living a life I’d settled for. There’s a freedom — a delicious freedom — that comes from swapping the norm for something unconventional and fresh.
So, please. If you’ve been dreaming of full-time or open-ended travel, listen to yourself. Don’t become paralyzed by everyone else’s opinion, or a fear of the unknown that keeps you trapped. It really is as simple as one step at a time.
And here’s the thing many people seem to forget: if it doesn’t work out? You can always go back. Get another nine to five, and delight your new coworkers with tales of your epic adventure.
