Updated July 2026
Within a year, I sold the house I had raised my children in and moved into an apartment a quarter of its size. I let go of most of my possessions, keeping only what would fit into my new home. My youngest son finished his first year of university, marking the end of another chapter, and I said goodbye to my faithful thirteen-year-old dog, Caesar.
It was a year filled with endings.
But it was also the year I discovered that home isn’t necessarily a place.
It’s a feeling.
Looking back now, I realize I wasn’t losing a life—I was making room for a different one.
The children had grown up in the stability they deserved. Caesar had enjoyed years of long walks and unconditional love. Even downsizing brought an unexpected freedom. Instead of spending entire weekends cleaning a house and maintaining a yard, I suddenly found myself with time.
For the first time in decades, I had very little tying me to one location.
Because my work only required a laptop and an internet connection, I began spending time wherever I was needed. I stayed with my aunt while renovating my mother’s house, then traveled back to Kingston, Ontario, to settle the estate after it sold. Along the way I detoured through Toronto and Wasaga Beach simply to visit friends.
Some people would have viewed all that driving as exhausting.
I viewed it as an adventure.
Learning to Trust the Road
I’ve always loved road trips.
I enjoy exploring places I’ve never been, taking scenic routes, and occasionally changing plans simply because something catches my attention along the way.
Over the years, many women have told me they could never do that alone.
“What if something happens?”
It’s a reasonable question. At the time, I thought I was simply fearless. Now I realize that wasn’t true.
I wasn’t fearless.
I just had enough of a safety net that my curiosity outweighed my fear.
For me, part of that safety net was OnStar. I’d been using it since 2005, and knowing I could press a button and reach another human being if I found myself in trouble gave me the confidence to wander farther than I otherwise might have.
It didn’t eliminate uncertainty. It simply reduced enough of it that I could focus on the journey instead.
A Road Trip with the 2015 Tahoe
Not long after, OnStar invited me to borrow a fully loaded 2015 Chevrolet Tahoe for a road trip and experience some of their newest services firsthand.
It was a fun opportunity, especially because technology had changed so much since I’d first become a subscriber.
After a thorough orientation, I headed out on the open road.
Some of the features have evolved considerably over the past decade, and others have been replaced entirely by today’s technology. Looking back, it’s fascinating to remember how exciting it felt to send directions from my phone directly to the vehicle’s navigation system.
At the time, that felt incredibly futuristic.
More importantly, it reinforced something I’d already learned:
The easier technology makes travel, the easier it becomes to say yes to experiences we might otherwise avoid.
Confidence Looks Different Today
If you had told me then what the next decade would look like, I probably wouldn’t have believed you.
Since that trip I’ve traveled full-time in an RV for years, crossed much of North America, explored caves on several continents, paddled through sea caves in Thailand, wandered Vietnam, and learned that some of the most rewarding experiences begin the moment we become slightly uncomfortable.
These days, I still appreciate having a safety net while I travel.
But the confidence no longer comes from technology. It comes from experience.
Every unfamiliar road I’ve driven has quietly taught me that I’m more capable than I imagined.
Home Isn’t Where I Park
That road trip was never really about the Tahoe.
Or the app.
Or even OnStar.
It marked the beginning of a much larger shift in how I thought about home.
I used to believe home was a house. Today I know it’s something I carry with me.
Home is the confidence that I can adapt. It’s the curiosity that encourages me to take the scenic route. It’s the understanding that every unfamiliar place has something to teach me—if I’m willing to go.
And perhaps that’s why, after all these years, I still feel most at home on the road.
