My truth about life on the road.
Life on the road has been a cycle of high highs and low lows. It’s been a total thrill — I’ve seen more in three months than some do their whole lives — and I am so grateful for the opportunity. But I am beginning to see that van life, in its current state of constant movement, is not working for me.
My life has been in flux over the past five years — just as I wanted it. I’ve moved across the country and the world. Explored new relationships. Mourned their ends. Dealt with anxiety and depression. Started a business. Began uncovering my artistic voice. And then moved into a van.
Like a dog sensing a storm on the horizon, my intuition's ears have perked and eyes have narrowed in knowing. She's telling me a change needs to be made, or I might soon be swept away.
Truth: My wings need a rest.
I need autumn. I need the harvest. I need winter. I need to burn things. I need human touch, and to put my hands in the dirt. I need to hug animals. I need to be far away from highways and tourists. I need real connection.
And especially, my art needs space to breathe and expand, which it doesn’t have when I’m always on the move over concrete.
I have a vision — a place in the forest, close to people I love. I think when you can see something so clearly in your mind's eye it must be true.
I am officially out asking, seeking.
Gratitude floods my heart. I’ve seen the desert, mountains, and sea, given long-awaited real-life hugs to Internet friends who are now real-life friends… but the summer of the soul is coming to an end, and I look to exchange this stimulating and unstable life on the road for the silence and simplicity of life on the land.
Still, there is this gnarly little voice that says you're selling out; you're failing. But I know..
There’s nothing to “fail” at here. It’s just living. [tweet]
The business woman in me clings to image and personal brand — I am the "solo woman on the road". But I know there is much more to me than an one-dimensional characterization.
I am the At Wild Woman, through and through. Her road is not a literal one, but a metaphor for exploring all lands — external and internal.
And more importantly, I am not a brand; I am a human. And I am allowed to change my mind. Anytime I want. (So are you.) This may lead us to be perceived as less marketable, successful, or easy to categorize, but it makes us alive and real. This makes us human.