Molly:

“Fifteen products your hairdresser does NOT want you to know about,” I sigh, kicking my feet up on the cooler next to my foldout camping chair.

I run my fingers through my long, curly, dirty blonde hair. I don’t remember the last time I even went to a hairdresser. Long and wild is about the most conducive thing to my lifestyle. Ponytails and braids have been my go-to style since I started freelancing.

I don’t mind writing for the occasional content mill. It pays the bills and gives me a little bit of stability in between writing things that are more important to my heart. Humanitarian stories will always be the ones I chase, but I will happily take any work I can get in the meanwhile. As long as I have my bus, my freedom, my dog, and the ability to travel wherever I feel like on any given day, I’m a happy girl.

“Spring water tonic, huh?” I giggle, looking at the list of items I need to include in my story. Where I’m parked right now is surrounded by natural springs. I can stick my head in the water for zero dollars and these suckers are paying $19.99 a pop.

My Mini Pinscher, Dolly, drags a stick through the grass and curls up next to me, chewing away contentedly. I love summers in Colorado, and being able to work from outside is a dream come true. This campground is my office, my lap is my desk, and when I’m finished with the thing I have to do, I have a whole day to do whatever I feel like doing.

My parents and my friends back at home are constantly asking me “what are you running away from?” I’ve always had a relatively good life. No hardships. A great family. Good grades. I had a decent job lined up at our local newspaper when I graduated college. It wasn’t anything earth-shattering but it would’ve paid my bills and let me settle into the kind of life I was raised to strive for: White picket fences and a cute little cottage on the hill. Steady pay. Steady hours. Perfect setup to find myself a decent man and live the blue-collar dream.

When I used all my college graduation money to buy this minibus and spent the summer ripping out the seats and turning it into a practical living space, my parents thought I was just going through a phase. When I sold half my stuff so I could invest in a decent laptop, camera, and a wireless hotspot that could follow me anywhere I went, they thought I lost my damn mind. My dad even followed me around in his pickup truck the whole first month I was gone. I didn’t mind his company, and if it gave him some peace of mind that I could do this, then it was the least I could do for him.

Five years later, and I only hear from them about once a week. They finally came around to the fact that this nomad lifestyle is a good one for me. I know when I show up on their doorstep for holidays, they hope in the back of their mind that I’m home for good, but these days, home to me is wherever I feel like parking my bus. Right now, it’s in the Rocky Mountains.

I just pulled into this spot yesterday afternoon and haven’t had much time to explore the town of Creede. Maybe that’s what I’ll get into this afternoon. My fridge is looking a little sad, and breakfast today was coffee and my last granola bar. I’m going to need groceries, and I could probably use a little human interaction too.

It’s easy for me to go days without talking to anyone. Easy for me to get wrapped up in my work, hiking, and reading, but even my introverted self gets lonely sometimes. Plus, it’s nice to make friends wherever you go. People are an important part of all these new places I’m exploring, and I love digging into local culture.

“How fast do you think we can knock this out, Dolly?” I ask the little dog, who has the stick about completely obliterated into a million splinters.

“Holy shit, do I need some human interaction.” I laugh to myself. “I just asked you for career advice.”

I finish the last of my coffee and hurry up and write the best hair care article I can conjure up, using mostly my imagination. I send it to my agent with a smile on my face. Grocery money. Wine money. Gas money. Fun money.

I slide into my favorite floral maxi dress and do my very minimal make-up routine. I hook Dolly up to her leash and pop the batteries into my Nikon camera.

“Let’s go find a story,” I say to her, and she wags her little nub of a tail and follows me down the trail. “And a sandwich.”