Finding Our Way Back to the Road

Coming home to Illinois after a year on the road was bittersweet. On one hand, it was incredible to hug friends and family again, to cook in a big kitchen, and to sprawl out on a couch instead of bumping shoulders in a tiny RV. But as much as it felt good, something was missing.

I kept coming back to a quote by Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr.:

“A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimension.”

RV life had stretched us. It had shifted how we saw the world, and stepping back into our house felt like trying to put the genie back in the bottle. We tried to do all the things we loved on the road—long walks, photographing sunsets, birdwatching—but it wasn’t the same within four stationary walls.

Our previous house in Illinois

The Mind Games of Moving Back

The transition was, to put it simply, a mindfuck. We’d lived minimally for so long, waking up each day with a new view outside our window, and suddenly we were surrounded by stuff we hadn’t missed in a year. Closets bursting with clothes, shelves lined with things that didn’t feel necessary anymore. It was overwhelming, confusing, and honestly a little suffocating.

Piper’s Surgery & A Turning Point

Right as we were trying to settle in, Piper needed emergency surgery. It happened right before we were supposed to leave for the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. We couldn’t cancel the cabin we’d booked, so Patrick went with his brother while I stayed home with Piper, nursing her back to health.

It was in those quiet days, caring for Piper, that clarity hit: life on the road was what we really wanted. We no longer needed the “stability” of a house to feel secure. In fact, the house was holding us back. What we craved was adventure, freedom, and a life where experiences mattered more than square footage.

Choosing Adventure Over Stability

Letting go of the house was both relieving and daunting. A therapist once told us:

“Good problems are often harder than bad problems. Bad problems force a quick solution. Good problems leave you with decisions to wrestle.”

This was one of those good problems. We knew what we wanted, but it meant a mountain of work—sorting, selling, donating, and deciding what mattered enough to keep. Patrick and I got to work, shedding the “stuff” that had filled our lives and preparing our home for the market.

By January 2025, our house was officially listed, and with that, we closed one chapter and opened another: a second year of full-time life on the road.