Square Footage to Square Miles
LIFE'S A TRIP, MAN. HERE'S OUR STORY.
It was a quiet Thursday night in January. Pittsburgh was cold, still shaking off the holidays, and we were winding down with a couple of hazy IPAs at Conny Creek Brewery.
Just a few months earlier, our house had been the backdrop of a full-blown photo and video production. Our real estate agent suggested we take advantage of peak fall foliage for the visuals, then wait until spring—when the market picked back up—to officially list the house.
That night, the beer tasted like more than just hops and barley—it tasted like possibility. Somewhere between suds and sips, a wild idea took root. We didn’t decide anything officially, but a seed was planted: What if we sold everything and, instead of moving into a new home, we hit the road? It would give us the freedom to spend more time with family and friends across the country—especially Paul’s parents, who live down south.
We had two main reasons for waiting until spring to list our home: one, it gave us more time to sit with this crazy idea; and two, everyone knows spring is the best time to sell. We’d built our 2,400-square-foot, two-story home in 2020—much of it with our own hands. It was a beautiful space, surrounded by landscaping and tucked into privacy. When we finally listed the house it sold within 30 days. The buyer, navigating her own life transition, asked if we’d consider including all the furniture. That meant fewer things to sell, store, or donate. She was a cash buyer, waived the inspection and the closing couldn't have been any smoother. To us, it felt like a sign: let go of doubt, and follow this effortless path that was laid out before us.
Over the next six months, we dove headfirst into research. Evenings and weekends blurred into YouTube rabbit holes, traveling to RV shows, and dealership visits. We narrowed our shortlist of manufacturers from three to two… then Brinkley and embarked on our new life.
And just like that, we could breathe again. Not because the to-do list was done or the house was packed, but because something heavier had lifted. The silent burden of too much—too many things, too many expectations—began to fall away. In its place, a quiet lightness settled in.
We weren’t just shedding possessions. We were peeling back the layers of a life we no longer needed. And in that stillness, we felt it—not just the absence of weight, but the presence of freedom. We were free to go. So away we went.
