I Sold Everything I Own to Live in a Camper: Why I Left My Career
I got rid of almost everything I own, moved out of my home, and left my job. What I'm doing next is easily the biggest decision of my life.
This isn't a how-to and it isn't gear advice. It's the honest version of why someone walks away from a career to live in a camper, written while I was still in the middle of deciding.
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The dream I couldn't stop thinking about
I've been hyperfixated on one goal. One dream that has consumed nearly every thought, nearly every day: living on the road and traveling around the US. Whether that's for a short stretch or something longer, I genuinely don't know.
A few months back I bought a camper and just started running at it full steam, planning everything around work.
Because I did have a full-time job, in New York City. I've never been a city person, and the job required me to actually be in the city. I always knew, somewhere in the back of my head, that it would come to this.
What I actually did
The mechanics were simple and brutal. I sold as much as I possibly could and put the rest into storage.
The camper came first, a few months ahead of the move, which meant I had somewhere to go the day I left. That ordering mattered more than I expected. It turned a leap into a step.
The part nobody tells you: walking away is the scary bit
Leaving was the hardest thing about this.
I built a lot here. I built a career. If I kept building, I have a reasonable sense of where I'd end up. I know I'd make more money if I stayed. It would be comfortable if I stayed. I could probably get a bigger place if I stayed, buy nicer things if I stayed.
The genuinely frightening part isn't the camper or the road or the money. It's that I don't know how this affects my career. There's going to be a gap on my resume where I just explored the United States for a year or two.
Maybe I don't care. I took a risk.
Because here's where I landed: I'm more terrified of staying inside what's comfortable, of staying inside what I already know so well, and never taking the risk at all.
I'd made a version of this bet before
This isn't the first time I've done something like this, and that's part of why I trusted it.
When I was 19 I took a seasonal videographer job in Alaska, 4,000 miles from home, over a wedding videography job that would have paid considerably more in the short term. I nearly backed out. I emailed the company days later saying I wasn't sure, and they talked me down from concerns I'd mostly invented out of a lack of confidence.
That season produced the best footage I'd ever shot and opened doors I'm still walking through. I've been able to travel the world because of a decision that felt reckless at the time.
I wrote about that whole thing in I Moved 4,000 Miles to Alaska at 19. The pattern is the same. The scary version was the right one.
Why I picture it as a film strip
The way I think about a life is a moving film strip. Our entire life fits on this one small piece of film, and the strip keeps running with us or without us. We only get this one glimpse of it. There's no second attempt.
Look at it that way and the question stops being "should I risk this?" It becomes: why not completely send it?
Should you quit your job to live on the road?
I'm not going to pretend I have the answer for anyone else. But a few things I'd say honestly to anyone weighing it:
Be clear-eyed about what you're giving up. Not just the salary. The trajectory, the comfort, the certainty of what your next five years look like
The resume gap is real. Don't tell yourself it isn't. Decide whether you can live with it
Buy the rig before you quit if you can. Having somewhere to go removes an enormous amount of fear from the day you leave
You will probably be alone sometimes. I expected to be
The regret math is what tipped it. I could handle failing at this. I wasn't sure I could handle never trying
I didn't even know if I'd post this video. Part of me made it for myself, to look back on ten years from now.
What actually happened next
Since I'm writing this up after the fact, I can tell you how the bet went.
The first month was better than I expected and messier than I'd like to admit. I spent it in the backwoods of Maine, boondocked far more than I'd planned, and spent less money than I'd budgeted. I also left the Jeep connected to the camper by the seven-pin plug and killed both batteries under tree cover. That story is in One Month Living in a Camper in Maine.
The hardest part wasn't loneliness, it was focus. Getting real work done when you're parked somewhere beautiful and everyone around you is out enjoying it takes actual discipline.
The reasons held up. Changing views out one big window, a forced minimalism where everything I own is something I actually like, the freedom to drop the trailer and take the Jeep anywhere, being physically closer to the landscapes and wildlife I photograph, and never having to pack for a trip because everything is already with me. I laid all five out in 5 Reasons I Live Full-Time in a Tiny Camper.
And there are real downsides. Water anxiety, dumping tanks, bad insulation, thin walls, unreliable mail, constant maintenance. I wrote the unglamorous list in 10 Downsides of Living in an RV Full-Time, because it would be dishonest to only show the good version.
Months in, when people ask whether I regret it: this was the best decision I have ever made.
FAQ
Did you sell everything before moving into a camper?
Almost everything. What I couldn't sell went into storage.
Did you buy the camper before or after quitting?
Before, by a few months. I'd recommend that order if you can manage it.
What's the scariest part of quitting a job to travel?
For me it wasn't the money or the road, it was not knowing what a one or two year gap does to a career.
Do you regret leaving your job?
No. It's the best decision I've made.
How much does it cost to live in a camper full-time?
My first month came in under what I budgeted, mostly because I boondocked and dispersed camped instead of paying for campgrounds.
Final thoughts
I'll be out on the road, and honestly I'll be leaning on this community more than I have before. Every time someone leaves a comment here it feels like hanging out with friends, which is the part of social media that mostly got lost somewhere. I'd like to keep that going.
If you're in the middle of a similar calling, whatever yours is, let me know in the comments. I'd really like to hear it.
Thank you for watching, and Godspeed. I'll see you out there on the road.
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