The decision, in late 2017, to sell everything, move into a motorhome, and travel full-time was not an easy one for me…initially. Having grown up in an era where grandparents retired and hosted throngs of family members, children, and grandchildren and cooked up and served those delectable dishes that only Grandma knew how to make, I was all for maintaining a homestead, ready-made to be filled with treasured memories. There was only one problem. Our entire family – parents, children and grandchildren, siblings, cousins – were all scattered across the country. Sure, we had family and friends come stay with us from time to time, but we were mostly traveling to see them. 

As my husband struggled with budget gymnastics, striving to balance the funds necessary to purchase and travel long-term in an RV while still maintaining a home-base, I began to feel overwhelmingly sad. And a little guilty. We couldn’t do both. I was torn. I loved the idea of traveling around the country in a motorhome – for a predetermined period of time, but give up my house?! My home?! My space?! I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. In the meantime, my husband was fighting his own frustrations and concerns: What is the cost of maintaining a “someday” residence? What will we have to sacrifice in order to hold on to a half-used, rarely visited house? He was ready to spend extended time with our loved ones, explore places we’d never seen, re-examine places we’d seen in a rush. He was looking at quality time without the tether of a homestead. I was tethered to the sentimentality of an improbable ideal.

One night, while we were still searching for a practical rig, we took a break and attended an outdoor concert. Surrounding the venue were shops, restaurants, bars, apartments and townhomes. I looked at the self-contained area, with its extensive walkways and sidewalk cafes, and asked my husband, “Wouldn’t it be great to live in an area like this? In an apartment, where maintenance is taken care of, and your weekends are spent sitting outside, listening to music and drinking your favorite beverage?” He looked at me with a sigh, and sadly chuckled. “Let’s sell the house,” I said. “Let’s downsize. Get rid of everything that doesn’t fit into an apartment. Then, let’s look for that ‘forever’ RV. Let’s go do stuff…let’s live!”

My husband stared at me, eyes wide open, eyebrows raised, silent. “I mean it. You’re right. We don’t need the space we have now, and the space we don’t utilize is filled with furniture to camouflage the emptiness.”

That night, my husband and I talked. Knowing I’d have to approach this lifestyle change in stages, we opted to rent a 900 square foot apartment while we looked for an RV suitable for us to live in and reliable enough for cross-country travel. In addition, we decided to rent a 10×10 storage unit to house those items with which we were, at first, unable to part.

Once we were free of the responsibility of maintaining a household, the idea of living and traveling fulltime in an RV became much easier to envision and much more exciting. Living in an apartment helped me remain focused on purchasing only essential items, purging excess and waste, and efficiently organizing what we had. Purchasing and taking short trips in our RV during this time helped both of us understand which items to leave behind, which items to bring, and where/how those items should be stored. Oh, and that storage unit? One year later, we could only recall a handful of items that we’d placed there. Those few items were spared and taken to one of my brothers for safe-keeping. The rest is gone and quite forgotten.

By the time we made the move from apartment to RV, we were ready – I was ready. Ready to hit the road knowing that home would be with us wherever we roamed; ready to end every day’s adventures sitting in my chair, drinking coffee from my mug, sleeping in my bed; ready to live life cage free, with no regrets.