My name’s Kit and I call many places home. A gravel pullout, a desert dirt double track, a stand of aspens. I’ve lived and learned in all of these and will inhabit the open road until something else catches my fancy.
My partner J.R. and I have been living on the road for five years now in a 1976 VW Bus named Sunshine. What was a road trip, a journey across America, has become life. We’ve seen 200,000 miles, 47 states, 45 national parks, dozens of deserts, stretches of thick forest, more breakdowns than we can count. We’ve worked on 25 farms, eaten dinner with hundreds (no exaggeration) of friendly strangers, and had more than a few epiphanies under skies of pure darkness.
It was November 2012 when we quit our jobs, gave away our stuff, and hit the road. We had been living in the urban wasteland of Southern California and were burnt out on the endless cycle of work, sleep, consume. We craved space, silence, and wildness. We craved things we didn’t yet know existed.
Our last year in the city, I dove really deep into the philosophy of work, leisure, and idleness. I began reading books about the history of work, the ethics of work, the pleasures of leisure. I developed a hypothesis that year, one I called my Idle Theory, that would eventually lead to our life on the road. In my research, I realized that we needed to devote time to what we loved, that what we craved was idleness. We set a new goal for ourselves: to spend time doing nothing.
What were we doing, wasting our youngest, strongest years on work alone, when there was a big wide wonderful out there for the taking? Why not build the lives we knew we wanted? That was it. We hit the road.
It was a clean break. We didn’t have a job, only a thousand dollars in savings and a vague idea that we’d drive north. We rambled round, from sea to forest to farm. We picked up work as we went. Didn’t visit the same spot twice. We figured we’d run out of money and settle down sometime, but we never did. Here we are, five years down America’s dirt roads, and we’re going strong.
We’re still out here, sleeping under desert skies, looking for the next gig to fuel our hungry bellies. In fact, right now we’re working on a sheep ranch here in Nevada, haying ewes, and their lambs, repairing fences, and chopping wood. Winter’s on its way, and we should be heading south soon. But that’s to think about tomorrow. Today, we’re here, and here is home.
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