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We did everything right — or so we thought. My husband James and I got married, built careers, had kids and bought a home. But five years ago, we sold nearly everything we owned and moved into a fifth-wheel trailer with our three young kids and two dogs. When we bought our house years ago, it felt like we’d finally arrived. But before the boxes were even unpacked, something felt off, and little by little, the life we’d built began to come apart. As the years went by, James’s injuries from his time serving in the military began to worsen more quickly than we’d anticipated. A surgery intended to fix these injuries revealed irreversible damage. It became clear that the physically demanding career he’d trained for his entire life was no longer possible. Meanwhile, I was raising three kids, supporting James, managing our household, and barely keeping my head above water financially. Advertisement We struggled intensely, nearly lost the house, and eventually filed for bankruptcy. It was the lowest point in our lives. Amid this uncertainty, I felt paralyzed by fear — terrified that even if we lost the house, moved and bought another home, I might hate the new location. I couldn’t bear the thought of uprooting our family again, only to find myself trapped once more. Advertisement After years of battling the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, James’s disability rating was adjusted, and we were surprised when it came back at 100%. It felt like a victory, but also brought clarity and urgency. His body was deteriorating, and some of his conditions were both irreversible and progressive. Every day became a reminder of how fragile our time together really was. We realized we didn’t want to rebuild a life that had already broken us. Instead, we wanted a life filled with freedom, connection, and more time for each other — not just survival. So, we bought a fifth‑wheel trailer and told everyone we were hitting the road full time with our three kids. We didn’t know exactly what we were doing, but we were confident we’d figure the rest out as we went. Advertisement Not everyone shared that confidence. Half of our family and friends reacted negatively, with comments like “You’ll regret this,” “You won’t last a year,” and concerns about the kids’ socialization. Others simply rolled their eyes and adopted a skeptical “I’ll believe it when I see it” attitude. A few excited but cautious supporters emerged, sharing in our enthusiasm with a bit of hesitation. I don’t think I realized it until I was writing this, but beneath all those reactions was a deep sadness. Much of the negativity and anger was likely just fear — fear of losing us and of missing out on memories we’d no longer be part of together. We saw the trailer as a temporary solution — a way to create space between what was and what could be. It wasn’t about chasing adventure in the beginning; it was about buying time. We planned to travel for two or three years with our three kids, exploring new places while searching for a community that truly felt like home. I promised myself we wouldn’t settle again until it felt right — not just the house, but the life around it. Advertisement Just a few months in, at a small, dusty campground in Nipton, California, we experienced a turning point. Nestled at the base of mountains where our children played freely, laughter echoing off the rocks, we met incredible people living bold, unconventional lives. One evening as the sun set, casting golden hues across the desert landscape, our oldest daughter said, “I want to do this forever.” James and I exchanged glances, realizing together that this wasn’t a temporary solution; it was the beginning of something deeper and more significant than we’d imagined. That moment planted a seed, and a few months later, in Washington state, we stopped treating our life on the road as temporary. We fully embraced our new way of living, stopped planning a definite endpoint, and instead chose to live without constraints, savoring each moment we had together. Ironically, despite my initial fear of moving frequently, today, we relocate about every two weeks, and our house comes with us, making all the difference. Advertisement Logistically, we plan our travels roughly a year ahead and solidify details six months out. We maximize our Thousand Trails membership, our favorite budgeting tool, allowing us to stay at campgrounds nationwide for minimal additional fees. National and state parks are favorites; in fact, we traded our original 42‑foot rig for a smaller one just to squeeze into more park campgrounds. Planning routes and reservations also means mapping out schoolwork. We’ve always homeschooled our kids, but traveling has enriched their education far beyond textbooks. They’ve stood in the room where the Declaration of Independence was signed and learned history firsthand. And while routines are sometimes shaped by the road — like shopping in small towns or navigating time zones — our family still maintains friendships, structure, and a strong sense of community. Financially, selling our house allowed us to start our journey debt-free. James’s disability income helps support us, but it’s not enough on its own. As serial entrepreneurs, we sustain ourselves through various ventures — my business supporting authors, James’s real estate projects, and our joint content creation. Though living on the road isn’t necessarily cheaper (expenses like food and fuel add up), starting debt-free gave us critical breathing room. Advertisement To those who still think we’re crazy, I understand. This lifestyle isn’t for everyone. For us, though, it’s not about perpetual vacation; it’s about creating a life that fits, allowing our family to grow together, explore, and redefine what normal means to us. James’s nerve pain and other injuries remind us daily that time is a gift. His health challenges, complicated by the difficulty of coordinating care as we move every few weeks, underscore how important it is for us to make the most of the time we have. That urgency has only been reinforced by our travels. Advertisement From standing beneath Oak Alley Plantation’s famed canopy shortly before Hurricane Ida forever altered its surroundings to walking the peaceful beaches of Sanibel Island just months before Hurricane Ian struck, we’ve seen how swiftly both lives and landscapes can change. We decided not to wait for the perfect moment to live our lives fully because that moment may never come. The best time, we realized, is always now. Five years after we started out on our adventure on the road, our life bears no resemblance to what we imagined when we bought that first house. We measure our days not by calendars but by sunsets, campfires, and hikes. Selling our house didn’t just change our address; it gave our family our life back. Advertisement Kelly Raber is one half of the RoadRabers, a full-time RV family of five traveling the U.S. since 2020. What began as a temporary journey to find their forever home quickly evolved into a lifestyle rooted in freedom, connection, and discovery. Alongside her husband James, Kelly documents the real highs and lows of road life, roadschooling their three kids, and creating a life that looks different but feels deeply right. She’s passionate about honest storytelling, ocean views, spontaneous adventure, and motherhood on the move. Through RoadRabers, she helps other families reimagine what life can look like beyond the white picket fence. The family’s motto, “Your Dream, Your Way,” fuels everything they share, from travel inspiration to practical tips for hitting the road full-time. For more info, visit www.RoadRabers.com and @RoadRabers on Instagram, TikTok, Facebook, and YouTube. 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