(NOTE: THIS ARTICLE WAS FIRST PUBLISHED IN ROOTLESS LIVING MAGAZINE ISSUE 11, FALL 2021)

It was a rainy Saturday afternoon and I was feeling blue. So I decided to hop on Instagram and catch up with a few traveling friends I hadn’t heard from in a while. After a quick scroll, I came up empty. Had they gone dark? Thankfully no. A quick handle search took me right to the profile.

Their RV didn’t appear in the first few photos, so I thought they might be visiting family. But then I saw it – a photo of them standing outside a small bungalow with a key and a SOLD sign – and I knew. Their caption confirmed it – they were off the road, no longer full-timers.

I sent a quick Congrats and called out to my husband, “Hey, do you remember that family traveling in the Jayco with the big white dog? The ones we talked to about the levelers for so long in Moab? You won’t believe this, but they’re off the road. They got a house.”

His reply: “What?! I thought for sure those guys were in it for the long haul.”

And mine: “Well, they traveled for 3 years. Some would say that is the long haul. I wonder if they’ll miss it.”

I wanted to be happy for them. Scratch that – I was happy for them. But I still couldn’t help thinking we wanderers had lost another good family to the trappings of normal life.

I was loving life on the road with my family; I never wanted to leave it. I couldn’t understand why anyone would ever give up the kind of freedom we nomads enjoy.

During our seven years of full-time RV travel, my husband and I played out this scenario over and over again. We’d get to know another traveling couple or family, bond with them over questions about hitches, composting toilets, homeschooling, our love for national parks, or good boondocking spots here and there. We’d stay in touch for a while and then, I wouldn’t see them on Instagram for a few months until – bam – there’s a picture of them selling their RV and holding the key to their new house.

Every time, my disappointment came before I could help it.

Along with a resurfacing of the question that was starting to feel like that mangy old squirrel that won’t leave your campsite for anything: “Are we still doing the right thing?”

The feeling didn’t last long, though. As soon as we were back on an epic hiking trail with our kids, watching a bald eagle fly over our kayaks, or listening to our son talk about how proud he was of his Junior Ranger badges, we were filled with wanderlust all over again.

Even at the six-year mark, when our 5- and 8-year-olds had turned into 11- and 14-year-olds and we knew we needed more living space than our 30-foot Airstream bunkhouse, we didn’t feel finished with full-time travel.

We were rootless for the long haul. Until the roots came calling for us when we least expected it.

After trying boat life and returning to our Airstream (a story I shared in Rootless Living Issue 5), all of a sudden, we started to feel like our season of full-time travel was coming to an end. We found ourselves calling one particular place “home” and wanting to camp there longer and longer. We started talking about what it might feel like to have our own washer and dryer and a few doors that lock – all the things we said we’d never need again when we hit the road back in 2013.

And I started dreaming about a photo of my future self holding a house key and a SOLD sign.

But we ignored the pull. We didn’t want to turn back into our pre-traveling selves. We couldn’t. We’d seen too much, grown too much, experienced too much to ever go back.

Travel had changed us.

Then we asked ourselves an important question: “What if life could still be adventurous even if we weren’t on the road?”

And we set about opening ourselves up to the possibility of finding a home that would suit the people we had turned into. So when the house of our dreams became available in the place of our dreams, we were ready.

We took the plunge, signed our life away, posted a few of our own SOLD sign photos on Instagram, and decided to look for ways to live the rootless, adventurous life while letting a few roots start to grow, too.

Here’s what we came up with –

Our manifesto for staying adventurous in life after full-time travel:

#1 – Keep taking risks.

#2 – Get outdoors every day.

#3 – Stay active.

#4 – Become a regular at a national (or state) park.

#5 – Make friends with other travelers and open-minded, adventurous people.

#6– Never stop learning.

#7 – Start traveling in new ways.

Some say we’re cheating. Three things give them that right.

1. The property we bought is literally the closest you can get to living in a national park without being a park ranger. (There’s a hiking trail from our back door right into the heart of Acadia National Park.)

2. We still work at our favorite campground in the country.

3. We didn’t get rid of our Airstream. Instead, we’ve turned it into an Airbnb on our property where we host other travelers during the summer/fall camping season in Maine.

We say we’re just enjoying the best of both worlds.

Just because our doors lock and we’re not sharing a washing machine with 15 other people doesn’t mean we have to give up campfires with friends and all of our outdoor shenanigans.

Maybe you’ll want the best of both worlds when your full-time travel days are over, too. Or maybe your full-timer days will never be over. The cool thing about this lifestyle is we all get to make our own choices. And we can change our minds and make new choices again and again.

Rooted or rootless – it doesn’t have to be one or the other.

And neither has to be forever.

Today, it’s a rainy Saturday again and I’m watching the sky empty itself from my couch under my fuzzy, yellow blanket with a mug of Earl Grey. I see our friends in the backyard running from our Airstream to their car, headed out to grab s’mores supplies for our campfire later.

And there’s a Scott’s Cheap Flights webpage open on my computer screen. I’m pricing trips to Ireland and Greece – and Tokyo and South Africa, too – just for fun. Because that’s where we’re headed next – over the pond, to a few spots we’ve never been before. Even if it takes us a while to make our way there.

No matter where we go or where we stay, how long it takes to get there or how long we end up staying when we go, this travel bug we all have in common lives on.

Rooted or rootless, wanderlust never leaves us.

So, travel on, friends. And if you’re ever in our neck of the woods near Acadia, drop us a wave on Instagram or invite us out for a campfire.

Whatever you do, stay adventurous.

(And be sure to read this article in print right along with other full-time travel inspiration by downloading a free digital copy of Rootless Living Magazine right here.)

Want some encouragement for staying adventurous even when you’re not traveling full-time?

Hop into the email group and get a fresh dose every Friday morning. (I also answer questions there and offer some one-to-one calls and coaching from time to time too.) I’ll see you over there!

Celeste Orr is the author of Togetherness Redefined: Finding a Different Kind of Family Life. She lives on the coast of Maine with her husband, two sons, and a rescue kitty named Bacon, spending most of her time hiking in Acadia National Park, reading good books, and working on new stuff for family-loving folks at TogethernessRedefined.com and @togetherness_redefined on Instagram.

Her new project for travelers - The Family Adventure Finder - is looking for travel-lovers to recommend their favorite roadside stops. Add your recommendations at TogethernessRedefined.com/finder today.

When Roots Come Calling: Life After Full-Time Travel