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.

Inspired by Ariel Alasko

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.

Take ownership of your adventure.

I had the great privilege of growing up traveling — my mom homeschooled me and worked on cruise ships for many months of the year. When docked we spent time on a farm where I climbed trees, ran around fields, and fell deeply in love with nature.

Although I spent a lot of time in the outdoors, I never did many of your typical 'adventure' activities like hiking, camping, or climbing.

Being super awkward underwater circa 2000

During college I watched the documentary 180° South, and it changed my life. I became fascinated by the idea of sailing and surfing seas, climbing peaks, and living an unconventional, adventurous life. 

But watching such magnificent, aspirational scenes from a dimly-lit dorm in a flat, land-locked New Jersey town made that kind of life feel entirely out of reach.

Eventually I got a taste of the adventure lifestyle through the men in my life — my dad and a couple boyfriends. I did some hiking in Pennsylvania with a college boyfriend. I camped in Colorado with my dad. I moved to the west coast and was introduced to climbing by another man, who also took me backpacking for the first time and encouraged me to go on lots of trips with him.

Looking back I realize I never planned or lead any of our adventures, so they didn't feel like 'mine'.

Learning how to climb circa 2014

I'm grateful for the introduction to these activities, and although I could've done it by myself, it was a relief to have a gatekeeper of sorts to lead me.

But my real affection for the outdoors piqued when I began to go alone or with friends — without a boyfriend — where I couldn't default to following him. I had to plan, pack, and act entirely for myself.

I felt something new.. something deeper.. ownership of my experiences.

Wanting a friend or leader to introduce you to the outdoors is nothing to be ashamed of, in fact, it's smart and safe. But whether it's a man or a woman, at some point I believe there must be a departure for the experiences to feel truly like your own.

Hiking The Chief in Squamish circa this week

Whether that means going on your first solo backpacking trip, heading out to local trails for an afternoon alone, or simply taking the reins and planning your next adventure together, it's an entirely new experience when you're the one leading the way.

To me, it's a rite of passage that has shifted the outdoors from being about scenic views or physical challenges to being an experience of knowing, of introspection. Not just looking, but seeing.

Now I love and crave going into the wild alone. It's a place to reset and be reminded of just how tiny yet powerful I am at the same time.

Is it time for you to take ownership of your adventures? If you're feeling the stir, I'd encourage you to answer without expectation. Start small. And bit by bit, you'll gain even more confidence, empowerment, and a deeper connection to the wild that'll last a lifetime. (I think — I'm not quite there yet so I can't say for certain.)

Just go, go now, and be wild in your own way. [tweet]

Money & #vanlife: monthly expenses compared

During the past two months I have driven more than 5,000 miles through flat plains, over golden hills, around snow-capped Rockies, next to the white beaches of Oregon, and now to the cool, calm waters of the Washington islands.

All the while, I've wondered.. am I really saving money?

I didn't choose to live in a van TO save money, but it was absolutely a supposed benefit that came along with the lifestyle. I've been working full-time for myself for about a year and a half, and my income fluctuates quite often. The opportunity to live so abundantly (as I saw it) on relatively low expenses intrigued me.

But after all these miles, tanks of gas, and coffee shop stops to work.. I've wondered if I really am spending less. So, I decided to sit and break it all down. 

Here's the deal!
(Or is it really a deal? Find out!)

I've decided to only compare monthly expenses that have been affected by #vanlife. For instance, whether I live in a van or not, I would still spend the same on health insurance, a cell phone, car insurance, etc. So those expenses are not included in this round-up.

There are also miscellaneous expenses I have not included, like oil changes and van repairs (aside from the BIG initial engine repair), because there are similar expenses if I were to be living in a home, like an apartment deposit, appliance repairs or replacements, and car repairs. I have decided not to include these.

This isn't a comprehensive report, but a general overview and comparison of the two lifestyles as I would be living them.

Here's the breakdown:

RENT

Of course, the big difference is rent. Something else to consider regarding rent is location. For $550 I doubt I'd be able to afford a room or apartment in some of the places I've been staying — Seattle, Portland, Bend, and waterfront locations.

INTERNET, UTILITIES & COFFEE SHOPS

I don't have to pay for Internet or utilities on the road, but I spend much more at coffee shops and restaurants to access wifi. There is also the convenience factor to take into account — I do much more running around trying to find water, a shower, or electricity than I would if I lived in an apartment. And that accounts for somethin'.

GYM

Perhaps a weird difference to recognize, but I spend less on gyms while on the road because I do not belong to a climbing gym. I pay $20/month for a Planet Fitness membership (which I'm discontinuing this month because I will be in Canada) and the remaining I spend at random climbing gyms that give discounts during the week. If I lived in one place I would undoubtedly have a climbing gym membership, which would be at least $55/month.

GAS

Pretty self explanatory. Penny the Van gets decent gas mileage (~30 mpg), but I have been driving much more than I intend to now that I am on the west coast. So I anticipate that monthly expense to lower a good bit in the future.

FOOD & GROCERIES

Although it's not on the chart, I'd like to discuss food and groceries. I am spending about the same as I would if I lived in an apartment. Although I visit the grocery store often, I only buy a few items at a time because of limited space and lack of refrigeration.

In fact, I probably spend less on groceries because I waste much less food in the van. When you have a whole fridge to fill, it's easy to over-buy and then forget about a head of lettuce or stalk of celery until it's rotting in the bottom drawer.

That doesn't happen in the van. Your entire house will reek of rotting vegetable flesh and you will know.. immediately.

A few final thoughts...

After purchasing the van and doing necessary repairs to get it out on the road, I've been pleasantly surprised by the slight (not massive — I still have many business and other personal expenses) financial savings.

For anyone thinking about trying out #vanlife and expecting to save a ton of money and have little to no monthly expenses, I'd encourage you to look into the specifics and project what a real month would look like.

A few questions to ask yourself:

• How much do I want to drive every month? How much money would that equate to?
• How much is car insurance in my state?
• How much will the van and initial repairs cost, and do you have enough saved up for this?
• Can I feasibly run my business or make enough money while living on the road?
• Do I have enough savings for the inevitable repairs that will be needed?
• Is saving however much money each month worth the inevitable stress and inconvenience that comes with it?

Do you have any questions about monthly expenses living in the van that you'd like me to address? Feel free to ask whatever is on your mind in the comments below!

---

Given the horrific events that have happened here in my country over the past few weeks (and years) I feel called to use this platform to say.. something — anything — before I continue on this amazing, fortunate, privileged path of living abundantly, in a rather carefree manner, sharing my thoughts and experiences with the world.

I am a white woman. I live in a van. I park and sleep on neighborhood streets. Sometimes I even open my curtains the next day and hang out for a while in front of a stranger's house while I boil water for coffee or read a book.

I can't help but wonder how this same ‪#‎vanlife‬ experience would be if I were black, especially when I wake up and see another report of another black person being killed in this country — today while in his own vehicle, with his seatbelt still on.

It feels awkward to share something like this because I know I have so much yet to learn, and I WILL make mistakes and say the wrong thing at some point, but I need to say something — anything. I feel an innate, deep, honest-to-God responsibility as a white person in this country to do so.

And you know what, this isn't even about me. It's about justice and freedom and equality and respect for all — black lives included. It's just about doing what's right.

I have so much yet to learn, but I want to make a public commitment to trying my best to not just understand, but use my voice and freedoms to help in any way I possibly can. Black lives matter. Peace.

A month-long experiment in gut-based biz decision making.

A couple weeks ago I declared July the month of intuitive business decision making. For one month my pal Sian Richardson and I have decided to do a gut check on every choice we make in our businesses and only say yes to what lights us up and feels 100% right.

We talked it out and asked, "What's the worst that could happen?" Maybe we won't make money and we'll have to put expenses on a credit card or dip into our savings a bit. Okay.

And then we asked...

"But what's the BEST that could happen?"

Maybe we'll have a blast. Maybe we'll learn something transformative. Maybe we'll book a dream gig. Maybe we'll take a much-needed rest. Maybe a glorious new creative idea will unveil itself.

The mysterious excitement of the second question was enough to convince us to try. And so our experiment has begun!

It hasn't even been a week but I've already nixed one project that's been on my to-do list for... months. (Why does it sometimes take us so long to realize what must go?) I went quiet over the weekend instead of feeling the obligation to share on Instagram. And I've decided to stick to a higher quote that feels right to me for a potential project, at the risk of the client saying 'no'.

And then this thought appeared:

What if we stopped trying to make an impression, make our mark, make waves, and instead simply navigated toward what we loved most?

What would that mean for our businesses, our relationships, our art?

I've realized this is the essence of July's theme — making decisions from an internal place of intentional action rather than outward-based reaction.

It initially seems scary, but I have quiet, complete faith that my gut will not lead me astray.

I'm ready to play the mindful long-game rather than choose short-term satisfaction and security.

Care to join us? It's an experiment for just one month. You could do it with anything — business, art, or personal life. In August we can all go back to business as usual... or maybe some things will change for good.

Feel free to follow along and share your experiences with us on Instagram @sianricho & @amandsandlin.

Toss aside the shoulds, the expectations, the guilt, & follow your gut where ever it may lead. [tweet]

One month. What's the best that could happen?

Happiness, transparency, & the Internet.

Last week Gale Straub featured my artwork on She Explores’ Instagram (thanks, Gale!) and several people reached out to ask how I live this life — running my own business on the road — so “successfully”.

Ironically, on that day and that whole week, I was in the midst of an intense struggle with money, art, and my personal life. June brought a lull in business. Being in constant motion made it difficult to prioritize creativity. And traveling alone led to a soul-consuming loneliness.

I never want to dwell on negative emotions, both for the sanity of myself as well as others who might be reading, but I also want to share what’s real. I’ve been in the same position of seeing others building out beautiful vans, living on the road, making coffee in forests, experiencing new landscapes, and it all looked so.. unbelievably idyllic.

I would think, If I can just get there, then I’ll be happy, live on my own terms, and everything will be great.

The threat of unhappiness did not dissipate when I moved into the van, it merely shape-shifted. I have quickly learned that where ever you live, whatever job you may have, whoever you are spending time with or without, new reasons to stress will always surface.

Any life looks lovely when only the mountaintop moments are shared. And hey, we all love to talk about the good times, right? But I’m writing today to tell you that my life is not just as it appears. 

Instagram, blogs, Snapchat — everything — is not an accurate depiction of a whole life. It is just a sliver of reality. This isn't good or bad, it's just the way it is!

For me, for every glamorous moment that is shared, there are at least 10x unglamorous ones.

Like this one.

Colorado National Monument

Yeah, I got to paint at sunrise on top of the Colorado National Monument, and it was freaking spectacular. But what you didn’t see is… the night before I made a can of Chef Boyardee in a parking lot of a climbing gym under fluorescent lights, where I’d sleep. I laid sweating in bed until I fell asleep and wouldn’t open the windows because I was scared of possible intruders. I slept with a taser next to me. I’d been feeling lonely all day, sitting in the van with my head buried in my phone because I was yearning for any type of connection. I was dealing with feeling directionless, penniless, and creatively bankrupt. I’d been checking email all day waiting for some new client or interest in my artwork, and absolutely nothing happened.

All of those things happened, AND THEN I woke up at sunrise to paint on top of a mountain.

In the spirit of transparency, here are a few more less-than-perfect realizations I’ve come to after being on the road for two months by myself.

• It isn’t anything like you think it will be.
• There will be a lot of pavement (duh).
• There will be a lot of driving (duh).
• Traveling alone might not be as easy as you think.
• Every high and low will be exaggerated.
• You will be sitting. A lot.
• It can feel like you’re always rushing. Slow down and let it be.
• You will get tired of not being able to stand in your home.
• You will care about what people think. And then you won’t.
• Your routines and rituals were emerge naturally. Don’t force it.
• Forgive yourself for every offset screw, momentary loss of temper, and less than perfect anything — which will be everything.

I could go on, but I hope this gives you a sense of the real #vanlife I’m experiencing. If you have any questions, feel free to ask in the comments below or write amanda@amandasandlin.com.

Through it all, I am so thankful. This is truly an experience of a lifetime, and I am grateful for the support that helps make it a reality — all the folks who hire me, purchase my art, and share even one encouraging word (or emoji :o)). 

PS - I believe that if you are truly feeling called to live on the road, move abroad, move across town, or whatever, you should try it if you can. Go, go, go!

There's a river of creativity inside you.

I have a theory/kind-of-cheesy analogy about creativity. Ready?

Creativity is like a river flowing inside of you. Whether you are an accountant, artist, barista, or whatever else, this body of water runs through you, through all of us. Side note:

If you are alive, you are creative. [tweet]

So this river (your creativity). In its natural state, it runs wild — rapids and undercurrents and white water abound. When you are a child, it flows especially free. You build towering cities from tiny legos and paint purple monsters with 59 eyeballs and draw superheros on sidewalks.

Maybe something happened when you were 10, or 26, or 52, but one day you wake up and making stuff feels foreign. You don't know where to begin, or how. Maybe you have a small inkling of a thing you want to make, but you don't make it.

You go to bed. You wake up. You go to work. You still don't make a thing.

With every passing day, the things you don't make pile up, and soon the river is dammed.

For it to flow again, you must make a thing. And other things. You must make all the things.

You must produce. You must let all the stifled creative energy that's stuck inside work through your body if you want new ideas, inspiration, growth. The old must exit to make room for the new.

Once you start making things, the river slowly begins to flow again — perhaps just a trickle. But soon the dam will bust open and you will be flooded with ideas and inspiration.

Practically speaking...

This is where one of my favorite practices comes in — a daily art project! Whether it's a week, month, or even 100 days, when you start showing up daily and making "shitty first drafts", that's when the good stuff springs forth.

It can be as simple as buying a notebook or pad of paper. Yesterday I grabbed a pad multimedia paper with 30 sheets, and I'm painting one sheet a day for the next month.

I believe everyone needs to go through an intentionally experimental phase with their creativity (like a DIY art school). I believe in the power of showing up every day and making. It's really hard. And completely worth it.

Stop sitting, waiting for that big idea, and start today with ONE thing. Maybe you don't feel confident in what you make. That's because you don't have experience making it yet! Start today. No more merely wishing "I want to make _____." Start today.

Start today, keep going tomorrow, and the ideas will flow forever. [tweet]

P.S.

If you're interested in a guided month of making, be sure to check out GRIT: A 30-Day Guidebook to Relentless Discovery for Visual Artists. 

(This is one of the things I've made!)

It's $19 and inside you'll find 20 creative prompts (note: I will NOT ask you to draw your coffee cup...), four weekly reflective exercises, resources, a free #atwildwoman download, and more.

This is not our job.

It took me a long time to understand that it's not my job to make people get me.

If someone doesn't like you, get you, appreciate you, respect you.. it's on them. This is not your responsibility. There will always be someone who will not get you. They won't get why you want to live in another country. Or be single. Or cut your own hair. Or jump off the corporate ladder and freelance instead.

People may call you "weird", "off", "a hippie", "unrealistic", "living on her own planet".

Illustration inspiration courtesy of Kate of Birch and Pine

I may not want to be married, or have kids, or buy a house.. but I totally can understand and respect folks who want those things. Neither of our situations is better, cooler, or more exciting. Each is right for us, and each is truly spectacular.

It is not your job to make me get you.
It is not my job to make you get me. [tweet]

Someone even once asked if I had a personality disorder. (I think she was kidding, but still, she said it).

"That's [living in a van] something that people with personality disorders do. Do you have a personality disorder?"

Meh. Maybe she doesn't get it. Not my job.

Be you. Quirks, curiosities, outlandish ideas, crazy hair, paint under your fingernails 'n' all. And when someone butts their head against your dreams, just remind yourself: Not my job.

Mindful updates to turn a van into a home.

A physical home, no matter how small, is where you’re meant to feel at ease in a little nook of the earth you call “mine”. To me, home is sacred — somewhere I want to enrich with positivity and fresh air and only physical items I enjoy using and being around.

I yearn for my home on wheels to be filled with raw materials — wooden furniture; glass jars; a wool blanket; cotton sheets; pretty gems and stones — and especially, less plastic.

And, hey! It’s not just for a frivolous Instagram shot. It’s simply because I love how it feels to be surrounded by pure, beautiful things.

I want to be intentional about what I keep, and living in a van (or any small space) is a prime opportunity to do that. You can look at every item with intention and ask yourself if it brings you joy (or utility), and if it doesn’t, let it go. 

When space is limited you must be ruthless about what deserves its place. [tweet]

The first stage of the van build-out felt rushed — I laid down the bare bones of the interior without building any storage space, so I’ve accumulated a few pieces that I’d like to swap out for more mindful alternatives.

My favorite night in the van thus far, spent in York, Maine

As I’m parked in Tamaqua, Pennsylvania this week building out a bed and cabinetry, my goal is to eliminate as much plastic as possible.

I feel so honored to have a place to call my own, even if it’s “just” on four wheels. It’s mine. And I want to make it into a special space that I’m excited to spend every day and night.

I’ll give you an update on this project in the next few weeks, but here’s the current plastics situation in the van and my goals:

• Big plastic storage bins hold my food and living items. I’m swapping those out for the wooden cabinetry I’m currently building.
• I use a plastic gallon jug to refill for drinking water. I’d love to find a big glass jug instead. I was thinking of a growler. And bonus. I get to drink a LOT of beer first.
• I haphazardly keep all of my art supplies in a big plastic bag. They deserve more love and attention than that. I’m hoping to upgrade to a canvas rollup brush and pen organizer.
• I keep trash in plastic grocery bags and toss ‘em every day. I hate this habit! I want to get some type of a seal-able bin or jar for trash (hopefully of which I won’t have much) and empty it daily instead.
• I accumulate plastic almost every day stopping for food and drinks. I’m going to try to shop in bulk as much as possible and figure out a good way to buy a little bit of greens at a time (maybe from a local farmer), so I don’t waste a big plastic carton. Also, I usually don’t eat all the greens before they spoil.

If you’re looking for inspiration on downsizing and creating mindful living spaces, here are some favorites I go to regularly:

Zero Waste Home — Run by Bea Johnson, an incredible proponent of simple, sustainable living.

The Chef’s Table episode featuring Francis Mallmann — Pour yourself some vino and feast your eyes on this South American treat.

A Well Traveled Woman — Pure visual goodness. I love Bekah’s eye for natural, raw beauty.

Life is more than things, but having things is inevitable, so why not choose things you really love? [tweet]

I’ve also heard a lot about The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, but have yet to read it. Have you? Would you recommend it? Do you have any other resources you’d like to share? Feel free to reply or comment!

On going slow & continual forgiveness.

It's hard work to slow down these days, especially as an entrepreneur living on the road. Slowing down goes against everything we're taught and brought up with in our modern society of hyper-connectedness and hustle..

Fast food.
Quick cash.
Instagram hacks.
Express trains.
5-minute abs.

Where are we going? What will really happen when we get there? Once we do, will we really be there, or will there immediately be a new place to be/thing to do/person to see?

When I started living in my van, I had a schedule and a set number of things I wanted to accomplish every day. I wanted to make coffee and write and meditate and paint and take photographs and draw and exercise and read and drive AND have a super productive client work day.

Every day. 

That's insanity.

I have a long way to go to figuring out a healthy new rhythm, but here's how slowing down looks so far:

5 mph under the speed limit.
Windows down.
Taking 15 extra minutes to enjoy that view.
Not making promises to be there by X date/time.
Avoiding massive highways as much as possible.
Staying an extra night.
Putting the phone AWAY.
Forgiveness.
Forgiveness.
Continual forgiveness.

Why the rush? What's more than here?

Foot off the gas. Windows down. Enjoy the [slow] ride. [tweet this]

---

Want more #vanlife notes like this delivered to your inbox every month? Sign up here.

The first night in my van was... awkward.

Ah, beginnings. A fresh start. The big change you've been looking forward to for days, or years. Exciting stuff. I'm all about celebrating starting lines, but let's be real here. Rarely have I ever experienced a beginning without an accompanying phase of awkwardness.

It can be awkward when you're wandering around a new city, not sure where to rest your gaze, looking down at Google Maps and turning around in the middle of a crowded sidewalk because you were going the wrong way.

Or when you're moving into a new apartment, with foreign scents and sounds, figuring out the sticky lock, finding all the right switches and cables.

Or when you're starting a new job and have to ask your boss a question every 10 minutes.

Or maybe it's just me.

I absolutely loved the first night in my van, but it was SUPER awkward. 

I kept bumping my head, knocking things over, and misplacing every item just when I needed it. I clumsily tacked up curtains with magnets (which was a HUGE pain, lesson learned) and stumbled outside at midnight to pee with a new bottle of pepper spray in hand.

Change means things aren't where they "should" be. There's no system in place. You have no established routine. You're kind of reborn in a way, scrambling around like an infant in the dark.

You must know that the awkward phase will pass. You'll grow into your lanky arms and legs and develop new muscle memory and cat-like reflexes. You'll find a new morning routine that'll be the perfect way to start your days. You're gonna get your groove back.

In the middle of allllll the awkwardness, find one quiet moment to reaffirm you are on the right path. [tweet]

For me that quiet moment was lying down on the van floor with a lantern illuminating the wood-paneled walls I'd cut and installed with my mom. After weeks of intense labor and stress I laid there, still, proudly looking around at what we had created.

I listened to music against the backdrop of crickets and wispy Spanish moss hanging off giant old oaks. And then, a quiet sense of peace — this is where I am meant to be. This is home.

And then I knocked over a bag of chia seeds and they will probably be in the nooks and crannies of my van until the end of time.

The day I threw all my artwork in the trash.

Today I wanted to share an email with you that I sent the day I left New Zealand to move back to the States.

The recipient was my amazing coach — Steph Jagger — who has been an incredible guiding light over the past few months.

Read on for an excerpt of the email.

---

HELLO!

I had to send you an email today because something so cool and mysteriously magical happened this morning.

Before we spoke yesterday, I sat down with all of the artwork I've made here in NZ and decided to let it go. I threw it all in the trash. With love, of course. I felt so grateful to have made it. Each piece taught me something. But I knew it was time to let it go.

(That, and I just didn't have room for it all in my bag.)

I released all expectations of my art right there. I really feel like the past few months have been leading up to that moment of surrender.

Then we had our call, and those words "Maybe you are an artist, not a designer" struck me right in the gut. I knew it was true immediately.

But still, I had this overwhelming peace after we chatted, "Just let it be", and decided to relax into this uncertainty and just trust. I would make art again.

I removed all art pieces from my web shop, but forgot to take them down from Etsy. Welllll, today I woke up and had sold my first "real" piece of art. (I sold one other piece before to a friend. Still counts, but this one was a complete stranger and it felt different.)

My heart dropped and leapt and I scrambled out of bed to sift through all the trash bags. I finally found the one small piece this person bought, still perfectly in tact.

I hear you, Universe. 

The pure mystery and magnitude of it makes me a bit weepy as I am about to walk out this door, where I've met so many lows and highs and breakthroughs and battles. Like this whole year was worth more than I can even comprehend right now.

Funny how the Universe shows up right when you're ready, in the most unsuspecting of ways.

[Editor's note: I much appreciated this part of Steph's response — "I love what you wrote about the Universe showing up when you're ready but really my girl, the Universe is always there...it's waiting for us to show up!" This is why she's the best.]

There's that quote by Albert Einstein: "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” I feel like I'm slowly stepping back into that state of magic.

---

Surrender does not mean giving up hope, but sometimes (usually) you just need to LET. GO. You just might find that when you walk away from the door you've been knocking on for weeks, months, years.. it opens.

Or it doesn't. And that's okay too. You'll find other doors, the right doors.

That's the deal with surrender. You don't know where you'll go, but when you stop trying to force your way you'll end up right where you're supposed to be.

Here's to miracles, mystery, and magic.
And surrender.

-Amanda

I don't feel ready to live on the road.

The closer I get to living on the road, the farther away it all seems. When I returned from New Zealand a month ago, I was SO ready to just get a van and go.

Arriving in Florida was surprisingly a pretty big culture shock. Daily life went from walking everywhere, living near the rugged coastline, having no climate control in the house, eating minimal amounts of meat, not owning a car...

...to living in suburbia, needing a car to get anywhere (except a new grocery store that just opened down the street, yay!), staying in a gated community, watching cable television, and being tempted and eating lots of processed foods (hello, chocolate cereal at midnight).

At first I desperately missed the simplicity of life in Welly. Everything here felt foreign and unnatural. But now I've gotten used to it all, and I'm actually quite comfortable.

And now the thought of living in a van is starting to sound all like... WHAT????

Can I really get by...

• Running my business from the road? 
• Waking up in the back of my van every day?
• Making coffee, lunch, dinner.. in the van? 
• Showering in Planet Fitnesses?
• Having limited access to Internet?
• Finding new friends to climb and do outdoor things with?

All of these questions are starting to freak me out, and I want to share about this experience before the actual #atwildwoman adventure starts because it's all a part of it.

While these questions are so specific, the feeling of doubt before a major life change is pretty much universal. It can be easy to dream, but when it comes time to take action, fear can easily hold us back.

When you get to this point, you can either stay comfortable, keep things the same, settle... or continue on with your journey and believe that it will all work out (even if that doesn't look exactly how you imagine). Trust.

This is the one life we know about for certain. What stories do you want to tell your grandkids (or friends' grandkids) when you're 80-something and look back on your life?

I want look back one day & say "It was wild & I was alive." [tweet this]

You'll never feel totally ready. No regrets. Onward!