What Nobody Tells You Before You Start

When I began living and traveling full-time on July 17, 2017, I had a plan or at least something that looked like one.

Nomadic by Nature is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

I had a Navy pension, years of preparation behind me, and a belief that I could build a meaningful life with far less than everyone said I needed. Before taking that final step, I worked everything out on paper. The numbers looked reasonable. The plan seemed solid. On paper, the road was predictable.

The actual road, however, was not nearly as kind.

My preparation for this life had begun years earlier. After retiring from the Navy in 2004, I continued working a full-time job while slowly planning for the day when I could finally live on the road. During those years, I traveled part-time in a 1995 Chevrolet 3500 duelly. I traveled in my trusty old red Chevy dually for many years as I transitioned from Navy life to civilian life and continued using it for part-time travel and adventure.

That truck was never intended to be my permanent home. It was persay a classroom. That gave me a place to test the life, learn what I could live without, and discover what I would eventually need for the long term.

I budgeted as though the road would cooperate with me, as though nothing major would break, change, or go wrong.

It did not take long for the road to correct that assumption.

So 13 years later in 2017 and on a whim, a 27-foot fifth wheel was purchased, the townhome was sold, and the part-time adventures became a full-time life. There was no traditional home waiting in the background anymore. The rig was home, and the road became part of everyday living.

What follows is not a checklist I copied from the internet. These are lessons that survived real life. Some began behind the wheel of my Chevrolet duelly along stretches of the California coast and across wide-open desert landscapes. Other lessons learned after moving into the fifth wheel and discovering the difference between traveling part-time and living this life every day.

Many people only saw those amazing places from thirty thousand feet in the air or they flew over them. I was down there living in them, driving through them, and allowing them to change me.

Almost every new nomad wants the rig that will solve every possible problem before they have experienced a single problem worth solving.

I understand that because I once thought the same way.

It is easy to convince yourself that you need more space, more equipment, more storage, and more comfort before you can begin. You start preparing for every possible situation, including many that may never actually happen.

The truth is that you do not fully know what you need until you begin living the life.

My years of traveling part-time in the Chevy taught me more about my actual needs than any brochure, floor plan, or online discussion ever could. They helped me understand the difference between what looked useful and what was genuinely necessary.

The road will tell you what matters, what does not, and what you probably never should have purchased in the first place. It is not shy about correcting you.

Start smaller than you think you need. Keep the setup simple. Learn how you actually live before investing in the imaginary version of yourself you believe will exist on the road.

Let your real life determine your upgrades later.

That is what I eventually did. I began my full-time journey in a 27-foot fifth wheel, lived and traveled in it for five years, and upgraded to a 35-foot fifth wheel in 2022. The larger rig came after years of experience had shown me what I wanted not before I had enough experience to know the difference.

Nobody wants to hear this lesson, but ignoring it is one of the fastest ways to bring the dream to an end.

Know your monthly number before you begin planning your route.

Understand what it will cost to fuel the rig, maintain the rig, insure everything, eat, camp, repair what breaks, and manage the expenses you did not see coming.

There will always be expenses you did not see coming.

I had a Navy pension when I began full-time nomadic living, but that did not remove the need to plan carefully. A dependable income provides stability, but it does not make poor financial decisions disappear. Fuel still costs money. Tires still wear out. Equipment still fails. Unexpected repairs still seem to arrive at the least convenient moment.

I have watched people romance their way into a beautiful rig and completely out of a bank account within the same season.

The freedom people are chasing is often arithmetic wearing a bandana.

That may not sound romantic, but it is true. Freedom becomes much more difficult to enjoy when every unfamiliar sound from the truck or rig creates financial panic.

Know what comes in. Know what goes out. Understand the difference between the cost of taking a trip and the cost of maintaining an entire life on the road.

Do the math first.

Then allow yourself to dream.

My journey began with part-time travel in my red Chevy dually. When I officially became a full-time nomad in 2017, I moved into a 27-foot fifth wheel. Five years later, I upgraded to the 35-foot fifth wheel I continue to live and travel in today.

Each setup represented a different season of the journey.

The walls changed, but the work did not.

There was always something to repair, something to learn, and something that operated differently than I expected. Every vehicle and rig had its strengths, its limitations, and its own way of reminding me that it was a machine not a permanent answer to every problem.

The real work is learning how to respond when something breaks. It is understanding what your rig can handle while also accepting what they cannot. It is also learning how to adjust your plans without allowing every interruption to feel like a personal failure.

It is also making peace with a life that does not come with a permanent traditional address, a familiar neighborhood, or a clear answer about where you will be several months from now.

That is the actual education, the rig is simply where many of the lessons take place.

Build room into your time, your money, your travel plans, and your expectations.

The road does not punish people for planning. It punishes plans that leave no room for real life.

A mechanical failure, a sudden weather system, an illness, a closed road, or a change of heart about where you want to be next month does not automatically have to become a crisis.

It becomes a crisis when your plan depends on everything going exactly right.

Give yourself extra travel days. Keep money available for repairs. Avoid committing every dollar before the month begins. Leave enough room in your schedule to stay when a place feels right or to leave when it does not.

Do not create a route so rigid that you are forced to travel through dangerous weather simply because a reservation or deadline says you should. Do not spend so much purchasing the rig that there is nothing left to maintain it. Do not assume that because a journey looks simple on a map, it will unfold that way on the ground.

Life out here requires flexibility.

A rigid plan may look impressive on paper, but the road has never cared much about paper.

My years in the red Chevy dually gave me valuable experience, but those adventures were still part-time.

I had a job to return to. I had a traditional home base. Even during longer trips, there was still a familiar life waiting for me when the adventure ended.

That changed on July 17, 2017.

When the townhome was sold and the 27-foot fifth wheel became home, traveling was no longer something I did temporarily. It became part of how I lived.

That distinction matters.

Part-time travel can teach you how to pack, navigate, camp, conserve resources, and handle yourself away from home. Full-time nomadic living asks different questions.

Where will you receive mail? How will you manage healthcare? What happens when your home needs repairs? How do you maintain relationships when you are constantly moving? How do you build routines without becoming trapped by them? How do you remain grounded when your physical surroundings continue to change?

Traveling shows you the road.

Living on the road shows you yourself.

Nobody tells you that one of the hardest parts of starting may have very little to do with routes, campsites, equipment, or logistics.

Sometimes the hardest part is the silence.

It arrives after the familiar life disappears behind you and nobody is asking what time you will be home. There is no supervisor waiting, no daily commute pulling you forward, and no established structure telling you what comes next.

I had spent twenty-one years in the Navy. After retiring in 2004, I spent another thirteen years working a conventional full-time job while preparing for this life.

That is more than three decades of structure, responsibility, schedules, deadlines, and expectations.

None of that simply disappeared from my mind during the first weekend on the road.

For a while, I did what many new nomads do.

I kept moving down another road, to nother town, or to another destination.

More miles gave me something to focus on. Movement created its own kind of structure and kept me from sitting too long with the quiet.

Eventually, I realized that the silence was not something I needed to escape.

It was part of the reason I had chosen this life.

The quiet gave me room to separate who I actually was from the roles I had carried for decades. It helped me understand that freedom was not simply the absence of a work schedule or a permanent address. Freedom also meant learning how to direct my own days without needing someone or something else to constantly define them for me.

Give yourself time to sit with that.

Let the old routines unwind naturally. Do not feel pressured to fill every day with movement simply because you finally have the freedom to go anywhere.

You do not need to prove that you are nomadic by constantly changing locations.

Sometimes the most important part of the journey begins when you stop driving long enough to hear yourself again.

There is no perfect way to begin this life.

You can research every rig, calculate every expense, study every route, and prepare for every problem you can imagine. Preparation matters. It can save you money, reduce unnecessary stress, and prevent avoidable mistakes.

But preparation will never remove every uncertainty.

At some point, the plan has to leave the paper.

The road will challenge some of what you believed, confirm other parts, and introduce lessons you never knew you needed. It will expose the difference between the life you imagined and the one you are actually prepared to live.

That is not a sign that you failed to plan.

That is simply how experience works.

Nomadic by Nature is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

I spent years preparing before I officially began living nomadically on July 17, 2017. Even after all that time, I still had things to learn. Nearly nine years later, I am still learning.

Start smaller than you think you need. Understand your money. Leave room for the unexpected. Remember that the rig is a tool, not the purpose of the journey.

Most importantly, allow life to teach you.

Share

Always remember this one lesson:

“The road will not always be kind, but it will usually be honest”.

What Remains When You Stop Carrying It

For two posts, I've explored the process of letting go, releasing possessions, shedding roles, and overcoming the invisible burden of striving to appear free rather than genuinely being free. My writing on this topic has been candid, reflecting that the journey took longer and was more painful than I anticipated.

However, I never fully concluded the story. While I described the cost of relinquishing something, I never revealed what truly remains in your hands afterward.

This post will address that missing part of the narrative, not the initial leap or the moment of release, but what comes after both have been accomplished.

I once believed that clarity would announce itself, that one morning I would awaken with a clear sense of arrival, much like a submarine crew feels the vessel level out upon surfacing. However, life, much like a submarine, does not operate that way. There is no single definitive morning; instead, there is a continuous series of ordinary days that gradually transform from mere survival into a life that genuinely feels like your own.

After nine years, I can tell you that the "spaciousness" people describe feeling one supposedly experiences after letting go of their former self is not a feeling at all. It is an absence, a quiet that emerges when you cease narrating your life to prove its success. I no longer check if I am happy; instead, I simply notice, on some evening with the door open and dinner half-prepared, that I am not checking. That, in itself, is the profound discovery. Freedom was never destined to feel like triumph; it feels like no longer needing to ask the question.

I still experience difficult days. The path of life does not exempt anyone from hardship, and anyone who suggests otherwise is merely performing for an audience. What has changed is the meaning of a difficult day. Previously, a challenging day threatened my entire structure, making me question if I had made a mistake or if the life I had built was truly mine or merely a costume I had yet to shed. Now, a difficult day is simply that—a difficult day. It no longer jeopardizes anything because nothing is riding on it. I am no longer trying to prove a thesis; I am simply living a life, and living a life inherently includes unfavorable weather, both external and internal.

Another observation I have made is how little I feel the need to explain myself. For years, every choice came with an attached defense: why I left the Navy when I did, why I chose a rig over a house, why I do not measure my days as most people do. I no longer construct those defenses, not because I have stopped caring what people think, but because I no longer require their agreement to affirm that my life is working. That was the true purpose of letting gon, ot minimalism or detachment, but the simple ability to stand by your own choices without needing an external witness.

If there is a central thesis to this entire trilogy, distilled from three posts and roughly a year of my life, it is this: you carry yourself with you wherever you go. You gradually recognize who that self truly is, beneath what you were instructed to be. Then, if you are willing, you release everything that is not that self. What remains is not a superior version of your old life; it is simply you, finally visible, with nothing left to hide behind.

I do not know if this marks the end of who I am becoming; I doubt it is. However, it signifies the conclusion of this particular ascent, from the man who left the Navy seeking quiet, through the years of discerning what quiet truly demanded, to whoever is writing this sentence tonight with the door open and nothing left to prove.

If any part of this trilogy resonated with you on your own journey, whether on the road or off it, I would appreciate hearing where it found you. Please reply to this post or find me on Notes. New posts will continue weekly, and the next series will begin from this point.

You Bring Yourself With You: The Emotional Reality of Full-Time Nomadic Life

Nine years on the road taught me that freedom doesn't erase the old version of yourself — it forces you to finally meet him.

I've watched a lot of people imagine leaving.

The day they quit. The day they buy the rig. The day they pull out of the driveway. The day freedom finally begins.

I was one of them.

I imagined the road would solve things. Not all at once — I wasn't naive about that. But I genuinely believed that the low hum of dissatisfaction I'd carried through years of conventional life would slowly dissolve once I was living on my own terms.

And to some extent, it did.

But nobody told me something important before I left: starting a new life doesn't erase the old version of yourself. You bring him with you.

The Quiet That Catches You Off Guard

I remember those early months on the road with unusual clarity. The excitement was real. So was the fear. Every day brought something new — a different landscape, a mechanical problem to solve, a logistical challenge I hadn't anticipated.

But what surprised me most wasn't learning how to live nomadically.

It was learning how to sit with myself.

No distractions. No packed calendar. No identity built around job titles or the social expectations that had quietly structured my life for decades. Just me, the rig, and an open road.

That quiet turned out to be the most confrontational thing I'd ever experienced.

Because when life gets quiet enough, you start hearing the things you've been outrunning. The doubts you never fully examined. The grief you filed away and never came back to. The dreams you'd written off as irresponsible before anyone could tell you they were foolish.

And sometimes — if you stay quiet long enough — you realize that the person you thought you were was built largely from expectations that were never really yours to begin with.

The road removes the scaffolding. What's left is just you.

The Grief Nobody Warns You About

Nobody tells you that freedom comes with grief.

That's a sentence I've said out loud in campfire conversations more times than I can count, and every time it lands the same way — like something the person across from me had been waiting for someone to name.

You grieve the old routines. The familiar rhythms that, even when they weren't serving you, at least told you what came next. You grieve old identities — the professional one, the local one, the social role that gave other people something to point to when they described who you were.

You grieve relationships that no longer fit. Not because those people did anything wrong, but because you're moving in a direction they're not, and distance — geographic and otherwise — reveals which connections were built on proximity versus something more durable.

Sometimes you grieve the version of yourself who spent years trying to make everyone else comfortable while quietly becoming a stranger to himself.

Even when leaving is the right call — even when you know it in your bones — there is still loss.

And loss deserves to be acknowledged. Not minimized. Not reframed as a trade-off. Just acknowledged.

The Loneliness That Doesn't Fit the Story

There's a kind of loneliness that life on the road produces that doesn't show up in the content about it.

Not the physical loneliness of distance from familiar places — most people anticipate that one. This is the emotional loneliness of changing faster than the people around you. The loneliness of realizing that some of your friendships were built on shared routine rather than genuine connection. The loneliness of growth that creates distance you didn't ask for and can't entirely bridge.

I've sat in places that should feel like triumph — mountain overlooks, empty desert mornings, beaches so quiet the water sounded loud — and felt completely, inexplicably alone.

Not because I regretted being there. But because becoming someone new sometimes means letting go of people who only knew the old version of you. And there's a specific ache in that. A loneliness born not of failure, but of becoming.

It doesn't last forever. The community you build on the road — slowly, in campgrounds and forums and chance encounters that somehow turn into lasting friendships — has a particular quality to it. Built on shared values rather than proximity. Built on genuine recognition rather than familiarity.

But in those early miles, before that community has time to form, the loneliness can be real and deep.

You're not doing it wrong if you feel it.

What the Road Actually Changes

People ask me regularly whether the road changed me.

Yes. Completely.

Not because I found myself — that's always felt like too tidy a phrase for what actually happens. You don't find yourself like a misplaced item. You build yourself, continuously, out of experience and confrontation and deliberate choice.

But the road changed me because it removed the buffer. It took away the noise — the busyness, the social obligation, the constant external structure — that had let me avoid the harder questions for years.

In the quiet of those early mornings before the day started, in the long stretches of road between destinations, in the discomfort of having nowhere to rush to and nothing to hide behind — I finally had to meet myself honestly.

I stopped running from myself.

Nine years later, I can say that honestly. And I can also say it remains the hardest journey I've taken.

If You're in Those Early Miles

If you're in the first months and something feels harder than you expected — you're not doing it wrong.

If you're grieving something you can't quite put a name to — you're not ungrateful.

If you've sat in a beautiful place and felt alone in a way you didn't anticipate — you're not broken.

The emotional realities of this life don't mean you chose wrong. They mean you're alive, growing, confronting the parts of yourself that comfort once kept hidden.

The road may not give you all the answers. But it has a way of teaching you better questions.

Freedom isn't always exciting. Sometimes freedom is quiet. Sometimes freedom is lonely. Sometimes freedom is sitting outside under a desert sky wondering who you're becoming.

And then waking up the next morning.

And choosing to find out.

Nathan is the creator of Nomadic By Nature and has lived full-time on the road for nine years across RV, van, and Skoolie platforms. Nomadic By Nature publishes weekly on Substack and at NomadicByNature.net.

When No One Knows You, You Get to Decide Who You Are

 Identity and the Nomadic Life

When No One Knows You, You Get to Decide Who You Are

In a fixed life, identity accumulates through other people's memory of you — slowly, without your active participation. The nomadic life removes that accumulated identity entirely, offering something both liberating and demanding in its place.

The Freedom of the Blank Page

Every new place is a fresh introduction. No one holds an outdated version of you. You arrive as who you are now — not who you were. Growth doesn't need to be negotiated against fixed impressions. You inhabit who you've become simply by showing up.

The Hidden Danger

Without the continuity of being known over time, drift becomes possible. Successive reinventions without a stable internal core can lead to becoming whoever seems appropriate for each new context rather than someone genuinely, consistently themselves.

What It Requires

The nomadic life is excellent at stripping away false identities — those built on job titles, neighborhoods, and social roles. It requires active work to replace them with something genuine: values and a long view of self that don't depend on external confirmation to hold their shape.

What Nine Years Built

The parts of identity that are genuinely yours hold without external confirmation. The parts that required other people's memory to survive turn out to be lighter than expected. What remains after enough miles is something closer to the essential self — the one that was always there, underneath the sediment.

What identity turned out to be genuinely yours — and what was sediment you were carrying for others? Share in the comments.

Someday Is the Most Expensive Lie You'll Ever Believe

Someday Is the Most Expensive Lie You'll Ever Believe

Someday isn't a plan. It's a feeling dressed as a strategy — a way of keeping a dream alive while keeping action safely deferred. After nine years of fulltime nomadic life, here's what that word actually costs.

What It Actually Costs

The cost of someday compounds annually. Every year spent waiting is a year of the life you wanted that doesn't return. The most common thing I hear from people on the outside of the nomadic life is some version of: I've been thinking about this for years. And when asked what's been in the way, the answer is almost never a genuine immovable obstacle. It's someday — wearing a different costume each time.

The Myth of Ready

Readiness is not a state you arrive at before the change. It's built by the change itself. Nobody who made a significant life shift felt fully ready before it happened. The confidence came from doing, not from waiting to feel prepared. The conditions will never be perfectly aligned. At some point you make a decision with the conditions you have.

What the Road Teaches

Nomadic life kills someday practically. The weather window closes. The campground moves on. The moment is here or it passes. After nine years, the muscle that says now instead of someday is among the most valuable things this life has built.

The Question Worth Sitting With

What is someday costing you — specifically, not abstractly? What version of your life is waiting behind that word for conditions that may never arrive?

The most expensive thing you'll ever buy is the time you spent waiting to start.

What has your someday been — and what moved you past it? Share in the comments.

The Cost Of Freedom

Freedom is one of the most romanticized ideas in modern life.

People picture mountain roads, endless skies, campfires in the desert, waking up wherever the wheels stop turning, they also picture escape, peace, simplicity, and what they rarely picture is the cost. Not the financial cost, but the internal one, because freedom will ask you to sacrifice comfort long before it rewards you with peace.

The cost of freedom will also strip away routines you once depended onc, and will expose the habits, fears, and distractions that kept you feeling safe. It will also force you to confront silence without drowning it out with noise, and if you keep going anyway, eventually you realize something: Freedom was never about running away, but it was actually about finally becoming honest with yourself.

One thing about me is I used to think freedom was a destination, sort of a place somewhere beyond the horizon where life would suddenly make sense.

Maybe it was a different city, or maybe a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, or maybe a life without clocks, obligations, or expectations, but after years of chasing movement, I learned something difficult.

Nomadic by Nature is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

I learned that difficult thing you can was you can change your location without changing yourself, you can drive a thousand miles and still carry the same fears in the passenger seat, the thing is that realization changes you, because eventually the road stops being about escape, and it becomes about confrontation.

The road also has a way of stripping you down to who you really are. The with no distractions, and no polished image, but a carefully curated identity, just about you.

Then there are some days, that honesty is heavier than expected, that there is a version of freedom nobody talks about, but it was the lonely version.

The version where you question whether walking away from normal life was brave or reckless.

The version where you miss people you thought you had outgrown.

The version where you realize stability has value even if you never truly belonged inside it.

Social media though rarely shows that side, and nobody posts the uncertainty. Also nobody is willing to post the nights where doubt gets louder than confidence, or post the exhaustion of constantly rebuilding yourself, but that side exists in you, and in many ways, it is the price of becoming something different, because growth is really uncomfortable.

Real growth though is not aesthetict, it is not filtered, and it is not cinematic. Sometimes growth looks like sitting in silence trying to figure out who you are after removing everything that once defined you, and that process can feel brutal.

The truth is, freedom demands responsibility not the kind society talks about, or the mortgages, or promotions, and not chasing approval. I mean responsibility for your own existence. When you stop living according to everyone else’s expectations, there is nobody left to blame for the direction of your life. That realization can either break you or wake you up, because once you accept ownership over your life, excuses become harder to hold onto. You either move forward intentionally, or you drift, and drifting is dangerous. Especially when you convince yourself that movement alone equals progress, which I learned that the hard way.

There were moments where I confused escape with evolution, and moments where I thought distance automatically meant healing. Moments where I believed solitude alone would create clarity. The thing is sometimes it did, and sometimes it didn’t, but every mile taught me something.

Mostly what it taught me was that freedom without direction eventually becomes isolation, and that is why purpose matters. It was not perfection, or certainty, but purpose even if it changes over time.

People often ask why someone would choose this kind of life, why leave stability behind? Why abandon predictability? or why trade comfort for uncertainty?

The answer is complicated, because some people were never meant to spend their lives sleepwalking through routines that slowly drain them.

Some people feel it early, and also the pull toward something bigger. Something undefined, or something impossible to explain.

It is not always about travel either, and it is not always about adventure.

Sometimes it is simply about refusing to betray yourself any longer, and also it is that refusal changes everything.

Once you realize you are living a life that no longer aligns with your spirit, staying the same becomes more painful than changing, and that is where the journey begins, it is not when you leave, but when you decide you cannot keep pretending.

I think many people are searching for freedom without realizing what they are actually searching for. They think they want less responsibility, but often they want more meaning.

They think they want escape, but often they want alignment.

They also think they want a new environment, but often they want a new relationship with themselves that distinction matters, because no amount of movement can fix internal disconnection.

Eventually though you have to stop running long enough to listen to your own thoughts, and for many people, that is thought alone is very terrifying.

Keey in mind though we live in a world built on distraction, be it the constant noise, or the constant comparison, or maybe the constant pressure to perform.

Silence thought really feels foreign now, but silence reveals things, it reveals whether your life actually belongs to you.

There is also another side to freedom people do not expect, and that is Gratitude.

We are not talking about performative gratitude, but real gratitude, the kind that comes from realizing how little you actually need to feel alive. May be its a sunrise over an empty desert, or a cup of coffee in the cold morning air, or may a quiet road with no destination, and possibly a conversation that feels genuine, or maybe a moment where your mind finally stops racing. Those are the moments that begin to matter differently. The point where you stop chasing excess, and you stop needing constant validation, and stop measuring your life according to standards that never truly belonged to you. This is the part where you slowly start building a life that feels honest, not perfect, not easy, just honest.

Freedom has cost me certainty, tt has cost me comfort, it has also cost me relationships. The truly sad part is that it has cost me versions of myself I thought would last forever, and even with that it has also given me perspective.

It taught me that peace is not found in accumulation. It taught me that identity should not be built around other people’s expectations, but it taught me that authenticity often requires walking away from environments that no longer fit who you are becoming, but most importantly, it taught me this: You cannot discover yourself while constantly performing for the world, and at some point, you have to step outside the noise long enough to hear your own voice again.

That is the real journey, not miles not destinations, and not even aesthetics, but Truth.

Earlier we stated that the cost of freedom is high, but so is the cost of staying trapped in a life that no longer feels like yours, and eventually, everyone has to decide which price they are willing to pay.

For me, I chose the road, it wasn’t because it was easier, but because I needed to know who I was without the world telling me who I should be.

Honestly though? I am still figuring that out, but for the first time in a long time, the life I am building finally feels like it belongs to me.

Nomadic by Nature is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

— Nathan Jones Nomadic By Nature

Please click the link and subscribe to my Substack for more Nomadic content

https://open.substack.com/pub/nomadicnnature/p/the-cost-of-freedom?r=7ztjjz&utm_campaign=post-expanded-share&utm_medium=web

What Nomadic Life Does to You

The Real Shifts That Happen on the Road

What Nomadic Life Does to You

Going nomadic isn't just a change of address. It's a change of everything. Here at Nomadic By Nature, we believe in telling the full story, and the full story includes what this life actually does to a person over time.

Your Relationship with Stuff Transforms

When space is limited, everything you own has to earn its place. Most nomads report feeling significantly lighter, emotionally as well as physically, after shedding possessions they once thought were essential.

Your Definition of Home Gets Rebuilt

Home stops being an address and becomes a feeling. A ritual. A community. For many, this is the most profound shift of the nomadic life, and the one that takes the longest to fully settle into.

Your Resilience Grows Quietly

Plans change on the road. Routes close, weather shifts, repairs happen. Over time, navigating those pivots builds a deep, quiet confidence in your own ability to adapt and problem-solve.

Your Relationships Get Clarified

Distance reveals which connections are real. Some relationships deepen; others fade. The ones that survive tend to be the most meaningful, and new community bonds formed on the road can be some of the richest of your life.

You Discover Who You Actually Are

Remove the routine, the performance, the obligations, and you're left with yourself and an open road. Most people who've lived this life long-term describe this clarity as the greatest unexpected gift of going nomadic.

Up Next: Fulltime RV, Nomadism with Amenities

Share your experience in the comments — how has life on the road changed you?

What Does "Nomadic" Actually Mean?

And why an ancient Greek word explains everything about modern life on the road

Let's start at the beginning — not with a packed RV or a converted van, but with a shepherd.

An ancient Greek shepherd, to be exact, walking his flock across open land in search of better pasture. Moving not because he was restless, but because movement was the point. Because staying in one place meant the grass ran out, the water dried up, and the flock suffered.

The word he would have used to describe his life? Nomás. The root of everything we're going to talk about here at Nomadic By Nature.

Where the word actually comes from

"Nomadic" traces back to the Greek word nomás, which literally meant "one who roams for pasture." Its deeper root, némein, means "to pasture" or "to distribute." What I love about that is how intentional it sounds. This was never a word about wandering aimlessly. It was always about purposeful movement — following what sustains you.

That idea traveled through Latin (nomas) and French (nomade) before landing in the English language, and somewhere along the way we flattened it. Today, "nomadic" gets used to describe everything from weekend campers to people who've sold their house and hit the road full-time. But the original meaning? It's richer than that.

What nomadic actually means

Here's the definition I want to use as the foundation for everything we explore together at Nomadic By Nature:

Nomadic describes a pattern of life characterized by continuous or cyclical movement — without a permanent fixed residence — driven by necessity, culture, economy, or personal choice. It is purposeful, rhythmic movement in pursuit of a better life.

Notice what's NOT in that definition: chaos, irresponsibility, running away, or instability. Those are the stories other people tell about this lifestyle. The actual word has always been about something far more grounded.

Why this matters for fulltime RVers, van dwellers, and Skoolie families

Here's what strikes me when I think about that ancient shepherd and the people living in rigs, vans, and converted school buses today: the instinct is the same.

The tools changed dramatically — we have solar panels now, not walking staffs — but the underlying drive is identical. Move toward what sustains you. Don't let staying in one place cost you more than it gives you.

The fulltime RV family following good weather and lower cost campgrounds? Nomadic. The solo van dweller chasing remote work and wide open spaces? Nomadic. The Skoolie community rolling into a new town and building instant connection with other travelers? Deeply, historically, beautifully nomadic.

None of them are doing something new. They're doing something ancient, with a fresh coat of paint and a really good inverter.

Welcome to Nomadic By Nature

This is where our journey starts. Over the coming weeks, we're going to dig into all of it — why people go nomadic today, what the lifestyle actually does to you (the good, the hard, and the surprising), and a close look at the three communities I'm most drawn to: fulltime RV travel, vanlife, and Skoolie living.

If you've ever felt that pull toward the road — that quiet voice asking what if I just... didn't stay? — you're in the right place.

We're just getting started. Buckle up.

Drop a comment below: What does "nomadic" mean to you? Is it a lifestyle, a mindset, or something else entirely?

Part 2: RV Electrical Fire Safety

Hey family so let’s continue like many things there was a moment when this (fire safety) clicked for me, I had just finished upgrading parts of my electrical system in preparation for my DIY solar installer, but I didn’t give it serious thought until I had finalized my installation about a week later when it finally hit me.

So, once I finally had my solar dialed in, battery setup was strong with everything looking clean and professional. I stood there looking at that enclosed compartment and thought:

“If something overheated in here… how fast would I know?”

That was the exact moment I realized that I had completely forgotten about electrical fire safety. It made me feel worse because in my previous life in the Navy, fire safety on a submarine was taken even more seriously than flooding if you can wrap your head around that. So, as I stood there and pondered which direction I should go with this, it became apparent that in the RV space fire safety, especially in these small confined solar equipment spaces, was terribly lacking or forgotten all together.

That question sat with me, because here’s the thing most of us forget:

An RV isn’t just a vehicle. It’s a compact, vibrating electrical environment, also happens to be some of our full-time or part-time homes, and vibration + heat + confined space isn’t something to ignore. It wasn’t fear, it was awareness. That’s when I started researching compartment-level protection instead of just handheld extinguishers.

There’s a difference between reacting…

And designing for prevention.

For all that are following this, if you have questions please ask, and let’s talk about it.

See y'all next week~

Let’s talk rv fire safety…….

Let me say something that might make a few of us uncomfortable.

Most modern RVs are rolling electrical systems.

Lithium battery banks.
Solar charge controllers.
Inverters pushing heavy loads.
Transfer switches.
Compact wiring bays.

And almost all of it lives in enclosed compartments.

We talk about propane safety.
We talk about tire blowouts.
We talk about driving in wind.

But we rarely talk about electrical compartment fire risk.

Here’s the reality:

Heat + tight spaces + high amperage + vibration from travel = potential ignition points.

And if something sparks in a closed compartment, you won’t see it immediately.

By the time you smell it…
You’re reacting, not preventing.

When I started upgrading my electrical systems, I realized something:

I was investing thousands into power systems…
But I hadn’t invested nearly enough into protecting them.

That realization changed how I think about RV safety.

Freedom on the road isn’t just about where you park.
It’s about protecting what powers your home on wheels.

Over the next few weeks, I’m going to start sharing more about RV electrical safety — what I’ve learned, what most people overlook, and how we can travel smarter.

If you’ve upgraded your solar or lithium setup…

Have you thought about compartment-level protection?

Let’s talk about it.

Life on the Road: Inspired by Our Favorite RV Journeys:

"Every sunrise on the road reminds us that we are Living Our Journey 365 — not just chasing miles, but embracing the beauty in every small stop. With each turn of the wheel, we Keep Our Daydream alive, knowing that the dream is not a destination but the road itself. We are Finding Our Someday every single day, turning wishes into memories and doubts into daring. We Switch It Up when the routine calls for change, finding fresh adventures just beyond the next curve. And we carry the heart of Less Junk, More Journey, learning that life’s richest treasures can’t be packed in a storage bin, but are felt in the freedom of the open road and the love we share along the way."

Our January Winter Travels and Adventures around Arizona

We look forward to January every year because we spend the month traveling and exploring the Sonoran Desert in Arizona. This year was a little different for us. The first part of the month we spent a week at a rally called the United Rally which was held by a YouTube channel Switch It Up. The Rally was really a great experience for us. We had a great time, meet some amazing humans and genuinely just enjoy our time there. The rest of the month we spent in and around Quartzsite, Arizona. Each year we get there the second week of January and spend the rest of the month there at Q Rally. This year was Q25, it had a little different feel this year in a very positive way. We really enjoyed out time with friends in the desert this year. The pervious years were great, but something about this year so much better. We look forward to Q26 that’s for sure.

The following video shows a little of our adventures, please enjoy and as always if you have any question don’t hesitate to ask, we love the interaction with those that follow us.

2025 United Rally

We hitch it up and head to Tucson, Arizona for the United Rally/

5 years ago a couple Todd & Sheila Konitzer hit the road for a year to honor Sheila’s dad who had just past. her dad had an RV that he had planned to hit the road with. Well after his passing they two decided that they would fulfill his dream by taking the RV out and they found themselves liking the rv travel life, even if it would be for a short time. Well long story short that 1 year has turned into 5 and they are still on the road and thriving.

As for the United Rally, this came about because Sheila wanted to have a purpose while out on the road. She felt that just visiting places and excursions or adventures was not enough, she wanted to have purpose and the RV Revolution was born. From the RV Revolution spurned the United Rally, the rally was just a way for Switch It Up to gather content creators from as many traveling and nomadic genres together to share experiences and bring others in to support and build on community that has been established over the years on the road. To say this rally was a success would be an understatement. They were able to bring over 250 creators and non-creators together to fellowship and it worked out amazingly. So much so that the 2026 edition will not be in Arizona, but the Florida.

We had such a great time expanding our horizon’s, but also getting to meet some creators that we have only seen on YouTube, to being able to meet on a more intimate level with Todd & Sheila and we were so very grateful for their time.

The Rally had so many things going on from meet and greets, to seminar’s, to group outings, meal’s and games. The Cornhole tournament, the Rock, Paper, Scissors and Singo games were epic. To have a group of adults let go of inhibition’s and just have fun was such a great thing to be apart of.

We are not sure if we will be able to make the Florida United Rally, but we will do whatever we can to try to get there. If you are on the East Coast next year the first part of January/February make sure to try to attend you won’t regret it.

Alliance RV Vegas Rally 2024

Hi everyone, over the past week Tessie and I headed to Las Vegas, Nevada to attend our first RV rally, The Alliance Vegas Ally Rally 2024 and it was in a word amazing. I found out about the rally in the first part of 2024 after we returned from our annual trip to Quartzsite for the Big Tent and Q Rally. At first, I was not sure if rally life would suit us, since Tessie and I are such spur of the moment travelers but decided to find out more information about it and ultimately during information gathering process it threw our names in the hat, and we were invited to attend. So, the prep started with getting the rig in “Rally” mode which I don’t even know if that is a thing, but I there we were getting everything ready for this new adventure. So, we decided to get there the day before all the events happened since we were not traveling that far, so we headed out Tuesday morning the day of the official kickoff. We drove from San Diego where we Cabin Host at Santee Lakes Regional Campground and headed east to Las Vegas. The trip, like 99% of our trips, was pretty uneventful thankfully, we drove stopped halfway to enjoy brunch at arguably our favorite diner Peggy Sue’s Diner just outside of Barstow, California off highway 15. Anytime we are heading east on Highway 15 Peggy Sue’s will always get our business, it’s also great that they are now a Harvest Host stop for rver’s. After brunch we continued heading to our Vegas destination with a stop just outside of Baker, California at one of the newly renovated rest areas. After our 6-hour journey we pulled into Oasis RV Resort, truth be told we have passed this resort probably 20 times on our too or through Las Vegas and never knew this place was there, not that we hadn’t heard about it from fellow rver’s in YT videos, but we had no idea where it was located until, but we do now. After checking in and getting parked, we got the rv all set up headed over to the main meeting hall where all the events would be happening, we walked in and saw a friendly face which is always a great thing, and from that point on the adventure and fun began. During this first evening, we had the pleasure to finally meet Ryan Brady, and Bill Martin, Bill you are definitely a positive light sir, your passion and commitment to Alliance RV and us the owners is matched, so glad you are on our side. Also, during this time got a chance to meet April Clark, and Rob Boyer who literally kept the show going and were the go-to crew throughout the week. These two were always literally everywhere, I have no idea how they did it all, but they definitely had a great crew of helpers with them. Thank you, April and Rob, for all the hard work, it all turned out amazing from my purview. During the next 3 days there were so many activities and seminars, also the shear amount of work the Alliance Service crew took on was monumental. We saw everything from wall trim repairs to axle replacements. The true professionalism on display by the Alliance Service team was something to behold. As someone with a background in service and customer care, I truly appreciated seeing the service team in action. Besides the Alliance crew we were able to put names to faces that we see on the many Alliance Facebook groups. I want to thank Bob & Lorraine Mitchell, John & Kim Tyer, Mark & Angie Wilkerson, Tom & Robin Ross, and Jason & Kimberly Anderson for your hospitality and FamAllyShip, meeting and hanging out with all of you was fantastic, we definitely look forward to meeting up with you all at some point on our journey and travel’s I have to say that this was a fantastic week and we will definitely attend another Alliance RV rally, hopefully we can make it to the National Rally in Indiana who knows.

Joshua Tree National Park

One of the things that we enjoy is visiting our countries National Parks and Monuments. We recently visited Joshua Tree NP which has been on our [list of living] places for a very long time. It’s kind of funny, we are from California, San Diego specifically, but we have not visited this NP in the past, hell we haven’t visiting many places in California, but ask us about Arizona, Utah, Oregon or any of the other Western states and we can talk for hours. We plan to visit many more amazing places in California over the coming year as we get around the state we have lived in most of our lives lol. One of the highlights of the trip was taking a driving tour from Cottonwood Campgound to the main visitor center on the other side of the park which was a 42 mile drive. Along that drive there are Exhibit Points that explain the history, flora and fauna of the NP. On this drive you can see part of the sheer magnitude of this beautiful park and also the diversity of the landscape which really has to be seen to be appreciated. This area has a deep and rich cultural history to it that is not readily known. If you’re in the area for any period of time I would say check out Joshua Tree National Park, it just may surprise you!

Hatfield Creek Winery Harvest Host stop

Harvest Host have you heard of it? Well Harvest Host is a program for rvers to be able to stop for the night at Farm’s, Wineries, Breweries, Museums, Golf Courses and some Churches. Its a great resource as you travel around the country to be able to stay at an unconventional spot other than a campground. The stay’s are usually filled with fun and relaxation and in this case a lot of really good wine. The Winery boasted a really neat museum about its beginnings and its owners. The tasting room and the grounds are very comfortable and inviting. If you are ever in or near Ramona, California and are looking for a great overnight this is one to consider.

We had a fantastic time at Hatfield Creek, we were able to have our daughter in her rv and a really good friend drove up to join us as well. We look forward to returning at some point. This was also part of the shakedown of our new Cargo Trailer Conversion that i put together over the last year and a half. There will be full feature of it at some point in the future of its build.

RV Build Quality, is it or isn't it a bigger deal than we think.

A little different perspective on the quality debate that seems to have infected the rv world over the last few years. I personally look at things from a different lens being that I have a background in Submarine Nuclear and Non-Nuclear Quality Assurance, where proper manufacturing and assembly are paramount to the success of ships operation and mission, while protecting the humans that live and work on board. Do i believe that a higher standard needs to be had in the rv industry absolutely, but i also believe that after taking 14 rv manufacturing factory tours, that they are putting in the effort (even though most end users don't think so) to ensure a quality product is put out. Recently a former fulltime RV couple who i have followed for over 10 yrs, the Wynns, who have gone from RV's to Sail Boat's just purchased a $1.6 million dollar custom boat, and in this vlog they speak of the quality issues that they are going through as they continue their cruising around the world. Trust me i'm not trying to call anyone person or company out, i just hope to expand some thinking on the subject when the proverbial "issue(s)" comes up in your rig possibly.

https://youtu.be/bDaCN0OxUBM?si=aPo0o6GTjtY_IKi8

Q24 RV Rally and Meetup

Welcome to the crazy

January 19th to the 29th will be the annual meetup of content creators. This meet up started in 2020 right before covid as a very informal gathering of creators who invited friends along for the festivities. That first meetup and subsequent meetups that have followed have been nothing short of amazing, and this years version should be nothing less than amazing as well.

This year has taken on a little more organization with the amazing work of Greg and Penny Cameron who just happen to live in Q, so they have step into the dare i say logistical position, but really i have no idea how we were blessed that they chose this group, because we would be completely lost without their guidance and can do spirit for all things gathering.

This year will have a few organized events i.e. River Paddling, Side by Side trail riding, Cooking class’s, Electronic Power Bank building class’s and a few more items, that will go with the always desired potlucks and the very enthusiastic evening campfires.

If you have not made it to Quartzsite to attend one of our events, you are missing out on a great opportunity to meet new friends, who will become family, and to experience the many sides of the nomadic community.

This year we will have every type of livable vehicle represented so it should be a great time. Looking forward to seeing old friends and meeting new. Hope to see you there.

Traveling to Texas

We left southern California, Santee Lakes Regional Reserve where we cabin host heading to Irwing, Texas today. Travel days for us are what its about, we love the journey hence or name Living Our Journey 365. For this trip we are taking a lazy 8 days to get there. Along the way we will have various stops at campgrounds, rv parks, fairgrounds, state parks, national parks and harvest hosts with a little bit of boondocking thrown in as well. To say we like a variety of places to stay is an understatement, we are not glampers by any stretch of the imagination we don’t gravel, dirt, or grass actually we prefer it most of the time. Over the next couple of weeks i will be posting some of the stay’s we have so i can give you guys an idea of what’s out there when you start your journey, hopefully you will follow along with us.

Our Stay on The Bay in San Diego, California

Our Recent Stay in Point Loma, California

We are taking a long weekend off and just hanging out in our favorite spot on San Diego bay front. The Point Loma Annex Bay View RV Park is so convenient and chill it just calls us. This campground is dry camping only (no electrical, water or sewer). Its just a place to park and enjoy the bay views which we don't mind at all. Since we have the ability to provide our own power 2000 watts of solar panel's and 800 amp hours of lithium battery storage we just park it and enjoy. If you have a kayak or paddle board this is your spot since it has its own marina and shoreline access. If you have military base access and you have an rv and your in the area stop by and check it out, its not for everyone since it doesn't have resort amenities, but it does have a shower room, and there is laundry facilities near by as well.

.