A
fter years of chasing jobs in New York, my husband and I hit the road in an RV, hoping the constant motion would eventually bring us somewhere to call home. We crisscrossed the country, stopping in cities that felt like temporary shelters rather than permanent places. The rhythm of the highway was steady, but the sense of belonging was missing.
In 2023, our world shifted when our beloved dog, Chubbs, passed away. He had been with us through every apartment, every move, even a cross‑country relocation from Texas to New York. His loss felt like the anchor of my life was pulled out, leaving me adrift. Grief settled in the quiet moments, and my husband and I began to question what “home” truly meant. We had spent years chasing careers, paying rent in cities that never felt like home. The realization hit hard: we needed a place that could ground us.
We made a radical decision. We sold almost everything—furniture, books, trinkets—and bought an RV. We had no intention of settling down; the road was our plan, our future. The first months on the road were a crash course in patience and perspective. Each day began with the hum of nature and winding highways. We worked remotely wherever we parked, building a life that fit inside a 32‑foot space. We spent a few peaceful months in North Carolina, surrounded by trees and cool air, and almost stayed. In Pennsylvania and Kentucky, we discovered unexpected beauty in small towns and winding back roads. Arizona and New Mexico were tougher—too dry and stark, and we longed for the ocean and more greenery. Each place taught us what felt like home and what didn’t.
The road gave me the quiet I needed to heal after losing Chubbs. Yet, as the miles accumulated, I realized I didn’t just want to keep moving. I wanted to build a life that felt full again, something steady and rooted that my dog would have loved. After two years, the road led us to Galveston, a Texas Gulf Coast island that had always held a piece of my heart.
Growing up in Texas, my family vacationed in Galveston often, and the salty air and historic Strand District instantly felt familiar. The island’s mix of old‑world charm and creative energy was unlike anywhere else in Texas. Art graced every corner, history lived in every building, and a deep sense of community made us feel like family. What began as a brief stop turned into a decision to stay.
Settling in Galveston reignited something I hadn’t realized I had lost: creative connection. I started writing again and joined a local publication focused on the arts, telling stories of the island’s musicians, artists, and makers. My work became personal and purposeful, a departure from the corporate life I had led before. I met many people who, like me, had come to Galveston after a big life change or loss, finding peace in the island’s slower rhythm. The city brings people together through shared love of art, late‑night jam sessions, or quick chats over coffee at local spots. The residents—whether born on the island or by choice—are warm and welcoming. Every grocery run or walk along the Seawall turns into a conversation with a new friend.
When Chubbs died, I felt my sense of home crumble. For two years, every RV stop felt temporary, a stopover rather than a destination. I kept hoping the road itself would heal me, but grief doesn’t disappear with movement; it follows until you stop long enough to face it. Galveston was the first place that made me want to stay. The rhythm of the waves reminded me of quiet RV mornings when the world felt still, but here, there was something more: people, community, connection. The serenity I found on the road existed here, grounded by roots instead of wheels.
After years of living everywhere and nowhere, planting roots feels both strange and sacred. Some mornings I still expect to pack up and go, but then I catch the salt in the air or head to my favorite coffee spot, and I remember why we stayed. The island may not have been where I thought I’d end up, but in Galveston, I found what I’d actually been chasing all along: a place that feels like home.
