No Brand, No Hustle, Just Life: My Quiet Version of Nomading

When I hit the road full-time in my trailer earlier this summer, I didn’t have firm expectations - just a quiet hope that I’d feel a little more inspired and a little less burdened. Maybe even free. And so far, in moments, I have. But what unexpectedly crept in alongside those moments was something a little less inspiring and far more familiar: imposter syndrome.

Vanlife, nomad life, whatever you want to call it, comes with a thousand unspoken expectations. You’re supposed to be building something, sharing something, healing something, documenting something. And if you’re not? Well, what are you doing? What am I doing?

Here’s the truth: I’m not an entrepreneur. I’m not super woo-woo. I’m not a content creator. And I crash at my parents’ house as my home base. So, am I still a real nomad? Am I doing this right?

I work for "The Man." Is that allowed?

I didn’t leave my apartment to launch a startup. I didn’t escape the 9-to-5; I expected to bring it with me. I was laid off a month before going full-time nomad, but truthfully, I liked working remotely for a company with a salary, health insurance, and all the trimmings. (I’m talking PTO and dental. I contain multitudes.) And if I’m sharing honestly, some days I feel like a fraud in the nomadic world. Like unless I’m selling a course or freelancing from a hammock, I haven’t really made the leap.

Some days, I look at the people building empires from the road and wonder if I’m just playing pretend. If my version of freedom is too conventional, too safe, too quiet.

Perhaps being laid off at this time is helpful: I have the freedom to choose my work. Whether that’s chasing side hustles or logging into meetings from a national park, I am living within the privileges that this lifestyle affords. 

So yes, I like working for "the man." And I also love watching the sunrise outside my trailer door. Both can be true.

I’m not woo-woo, and maybe that’s okay

There’s a spiritual thread that runs through a lot of vanlife culture. People talk about alignment and energy and full moon rituals. I love that this life gives people space to explore themselves, but I’ve also felt a quiet pressure - like I was supposed to be having some profound transformation. Some deeper awakening. Or, at the least, know my star chart.

But I didn’t hit the road to find myself. I hit the road because I was tired. Tired of noise, of expectations, of routines that didn’t feel like mine. I wanted more sky. More time. More experiences.

I didn’t need to know I’m a rising Leo with a Virgo moon. I just needed space to breathe.

I’m not a content creator… so what’s my thing?

I’m not building a following. I’m not going viral. I don’t have a YouTube series, a drone, or an affiliate link for my composting toilet (no judgment if you do!). Heck, I don’t even work in marketing (and to be redundant: no judgment if you do).

And yet, there’s this weird undercurrent in nomadic life that suggests your lifestyle only counts if it’s being shared. If you’re not documenting the journey, is it even happening?

Eventually, I realized: my “thing” is just living. Slowly. Intentionally. With somewhat less stuff and definitmore sky. Maybe my “thing” is taking a walk with Wendy at dusk. Making instant coffee, slowly. Sitting still long enough to hear the wind change.

Maybe enough is happening inside of me that the outside doesn’t need to be packaged.

Can I still be a nomad if I stay in one place?

I live full-time in a trailer, but I don’t always want to roam. I realized that my favorite place to be is at long-term stay camps like VLC: Joshua Tree for 4-6 weeks at a time. And I’ve wrestled with the question: can you still call yourself a nomad if you’re not constantly moving?

Because movement can feel like proof. It’s easy to believe that if you’re not chasing a new waterfall, you’re doing it wrong. Do you even vanlife, bro?

But I’ve come to believe that nomading isn’t about velocity, it’s about values. It’s about designing a life that fits your rhythms, not someone else’s itinerary. It’s about the freedom to move and the freedom to pause.

So yes, I’m a nomad. Even if I’m parked. Even if I’m resting. Even if I’m relearning how to be still. (I think.)

Imposter Syndrome in a Lifestyle Without Rules

The thing about imposter syndrome is it thrives in ambiguity. And this lifestyle? It’s one giant gray area. There are no rules, and yet we absorb expectations anyway from social media, from others in the community, from ourselves.

We turn freedom into a performance. We turn autonomy into a brand. And when we don’t live up to that aesthetic, we wonder if we belong.

But what if we’re not supposed to fit in? What if the whole point is to live a little off-script?

This life doesn’t need to be branded to be real. If you’re choosing intention over expectation, if you’re chasing your own version of freedom… you’re already doing it right. Even if it’s quiet. Even if it doesn’t go viral. Even if it’s just for you.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself - quietly - until I believe it.