Perspective
Every time I come round the corner of my building and see Envy parked in the alley, I let out a small sigh of satisfaction. This truck will soon be my new home.
Tom and I are just shy of 365 days into building out Envy, my 2014 Toyota Tacoma. What started as a "hell yes, let's give this a go" has turned into a "wow, we're leaving in less than two months." We've spent the last year transforming my stock Taco into our future home, and in a few weeks, we're gone—heading north through BC, the Yukon, and Alaska with no real plan beyond "see where the road takes us." But, let’s pause that for a moment.
2025 was my slowest year in two decades of being a graphic designer. The work dried up. It still hasn't come back. And now I'm leaving my current life behind with no clients lined up, no clear sense of what comes next career-wise, about to turn 40, and choosing to drive around North America for half a year.
Some days I look at my situation and think, what on earth am I doing? Other days I think, this is exactly what I need.
The word that keeps coming up for me is perspective. It's such a slippery thing. So much of how we see our lives is shaped by what our mind tells us, not what our eyes actually see. And right now, my mind is telling me two completely contradictory things at once.
On one hand: I'm terrified. I've never not known what I was doing for work. I went straight from high school into graphic design, built a business, spent over 15 years serving clients, and became someone people came to for answers. My identity has been so tightly wound around my work that the idea of not having it feels like free-falling. Uncertainty doesn't sit well with me. The idea of being jobless, directionless, at this age, keeps me up at night.
On the other hand: the idea of getting on the road with Tom with no schedule, no direction, no plan. That brings me peace. Relief. Excitement. I cannot wait to leave and do… anything. Choose this road without knowing where it goes. Stay somewhere because it feels right. Move on when it doesn't. The unknown of the road doesn't scare me at all.
So why does one kind of uncertainty feel like drowning and the other feels like breathing?
I think it's because the road is uncertainty on my terms. Career limbo isn't. It's something happening to me, something I haven't figured out yet, something I don't have control over. But this trip? This is a choice. A deliberate step into the unknown that I'm taking because I want to, not because I have to.
Maybe that's what I actually need right now. Not answers. Not a five-year plan. Just the space to stop being productive and let myself exist without an agenda for a while.
I've never taken more than 6 consecutive weeks off work in my entire career. And now I'm about to take six months. Part of me feels guilty about it, like I should be scrambling, networking, figuring out my next move. But another part of me knows I deserve this. This is what life is also about. Not just work. Not just money. But doing something that brings me joy for no reason other than the fact that I want to.
My parents took me traveling as a kid. We lived in other countries. They showed me that new experiences were worth prioritizing, that the world was bigger than the rhythm of daily life. I've always valued that. And maybe that's why the road feels like home in a way that sitting at my desk trying to force the next chapter doesn't.
We worry so much about money. Security. Having it all figured out. And yet the things I'm most grateful for, the things I'll actually remember, didn't cost anything. Sure, building out Envy required an investment. A rather big one. But the memories we'll make using her? Those are free… AND their worth is greater than gold.
I don't know what I'll find out there. I don't know what I'll come back to. But I do know this: every time I see that truck parked outside my building, I feel something I haven't felt in a long time. Hope. Excitement. The sense that I'm moving toward something, even if I don't know what it is yet.
And that’s the perspective I’m choosing to take with me.
