I have always wanted to live simply, surrounded by nature and immersed in a variety of landscapes. I have always wanted to live with self reliance. I have always wanted to live tiny, and I have always dreamed of a home on wheels. In the spring of 2022, I embarked on that lifelong dream.
Along the way, I realized there were aspects of modern society that never made sense to me:
Spending the best parts of our waking hours inside, often at work that does not nourish our spirit, in order to support a home we rarely have time to enjoy.
Devoting so much of our life energy and income to rent or a mortgage.
Chasing status markers that cost us time, attention, energy, and freedom.
Investing in pursuits that do not meaningfully strengthen our own lives or deepen our sense of purpose.
Instead, I have tried to build my life around a different set of values:
Clarity
Bravery
Discipline
Service
Confidence
Independence
Responsibility
Freedom
A willingness to embrace discomfort in pursuit of a greater purpose
For me, nomadic living is about intentionally choosing a life that reflects those values and pursuing what I believe to be The Sweetest Freedom.
Nomadic Biography
I became a vehicle dwelling nomad at 38 years old, but in many ways, I had been nomadic my entire life.
By the age of 35, I had moved into my 35th home. I never imagined my age and my residence-count would align again, yet somehow they did. During my 42nd year of life, I moved into my 42nd home.
Long before living in vehicles, I had already lived all over the country, across 5 states, 13 cities, and both the east and west coastlines. I have lived in two major metropolitan areas, several mid-sized cities, and countless places off grid. I have lived where subways, trains, and planes passed by my window every few minutes, and I have lived in rural communities where people walked their pigs instead of dogs. I’ve lived in a stationary 200 square foot travel trailer deep in the redwood mountains, in a garage in San Francisco, a fancy high rise apartment on the 23rd floor in the Washington DC area, and in a basement dwelling. I have lived near the ocean boardwalk where would I rollerblade to work, and in the desert where oven mitts really were required to touch the steering wheel for a summer drive to the grocery store.
At least five times in my life, I left behind nearly everything I owned except what could fit in my vehicle. I loved letting go and starting over, again and again.
Eventually, I realized I wanted to remain in motion without continually uprooting all aspects of my life. I wanted to take my home with me. So, vehicle dwelling made perfect sense. I currently live in a dreamy Class A RV, a whimsical tiny bus, and a minivan camper whom I refer to as my genie bottle on wheels.
I’ve Been Nomadic Long Before I Moved Into Vehicles…
Meet Chloe
Chloe is my cattle dog. She is my heartbeat, my right hand gal, my wing gal, my companion, and the best traveling partner I could ask for. I love Chloe in a way that words cannot describe. She is my deepest commitment, my constant, and she brings me so much laughter and joy.
Sure, it’s tricky having a high energy cattle dog while living all over the North American continent in tiny vehicles. For many years, Chloe loved the road, we’d hike all over the states, and perhaps living in such tiny quarters together brought us even closer than we otherwise would have been.
Her personality is wild and boundless. I’ve asked Creation multiple times if she isn’t actually a cat in a dog’s body. She is as stubborn as her mama, and she belongs outside. Nomadic life is perfect for she and I.
Chloe came into my life when she was estimated to be only two years old. Sadly, she was on death row, and I adopted her just in time. After the adoption, I learned she had only days remaining. She had been picked up by
Animal Control at a remote campsite with a severe injury to one of her eyes, and it was a miracle she got to keep the eye after the extent of the damage.
Although the shelter staff didn’t know the origin of her injury, it appeared to be blunt force trauma. They worried she may have been kicked by someone wearing a steel toe boot, although after living with Chloe, I personally don’t believe a human caused it. She loves people far too much and has never shown even the slightest trace of fear, including around big, strong men in cowboy boots. My own suspicion is that she was kicked by a horse or a cow while enthusiastically trying to herd an animal much larger than herself, but ultimately, we’ll never know.
Her eye does require ongoing care, and she is blind in that eye. Perhaps one day it will be best for her to have it removed, but for now she’s thriving and living an adventurous, joyful life.
Because of the severity of her injury, I was told by staff at the humane society that many people loved her but ultimately decided not to adopt her. After all, caring for an injured dog can be expensive, uncertain, and emotionally difficult. The shelter staff, however, adored Chloe and took compassion on her circumstance, allowing her to remain there longer than most dogs before euthanasia for lack of adoption.
When I met her, I couldn’t believe my luck that I got to be her companion, that I got to be her person. I couldn’t understand why no one had adopted her before, because she was so much fun.
When I asked the staff about this, they replied, “Well… a lot of people don’t want a cattle dog, much less a cattle dog with an injury.”
“Why don’t people want cattle dogs?” I asked, as Chloe was my first dog and I had very little exposure to the canine species before her.
They quickly changed course.
“Never mind! People loooooove cattle dogs. Adopt her! Adopt her!”
I was bewildered, but it didn’t matter. I had already decided. I actually planned to adopt Chloe no matter what the staff told me about the cattle dog personality. With Chloe I felt love at first sight, I had a knowing at first sight. She was my gal.
Ironically, before meeting her, I had approached dog adoption a little too much like online dating. I browsed shelter websites looking for photos that caught my eye, fully expecting to adopt a white husky type dog with striking blue eyes, something that looked like a little polar wolf. But, I never saw Chloe online, and I laughed out loud when I saw her, knew she was my girl, and realized how different she was than the dog I had envisioned.
I’ve since come to understand exactly what the staff meant about cattle dogs. They are brilliant but intensely energetic, bred to chase, bred to work, have enormous prey drives, and equipped with minds entirely of their own. Because they’re so intelligent, they also tend to be remarkably stubborn. Personally, I think they’re one of the best breeds on earth, and I can only hope more people take a chance on them, because they will love you fiercely.
Chloe adapted to nomadic life immediately, and together we embarked on adventure after adventure. Alaska, however, taxed her. It was simply too much, too fast. My own instincts didn’t want to slow down, but Chloe needed a gentler rhythm, and adjusting to her pace ended up improving both of our lives.
As it turns out, her rhythm is healthier for me too. Nomadic life can burn people out if they move too quickly. The temptation of the next mountain, the next campsite, the next beautiful landscape is always waiting just over the horizon, and Chloe has a wonderful way of reining in my impulses. She also keeps me healthy, because walking several miles every day isn’t optional when you share your life with a cattle dog. Rain or shine, we go. And despite her sweet nature, she is also a fiercely loyal little guard dog.
Chloe is an expression of unconditional love. I love her with a force I didn’t know my heart was capable of, and somehow she loves me despite living with me and witnessing all of my quirks, OCD, and occasional insanity.
We are two peas in a pod, two wild gals living one beautiful wild life together.
Meet Our Class A RV
I never thought I’d have a Class A. I assumed it was far too big for how I move around the country quickly and swiftly. And, I never would have sought one out had my parents not so generously offered it to me.
The story of how it came to me is as beautiful as it is filled with sorrow and meaning. My parents had planned to spend their retirement traveling in this RV together, but changes in their health made that dream impossible. So, they gave it to me. In doing so, they gave me far more than an RV. They gave me a home for life. And not just any home, but a beautiful, functional, meticulously cared for home-on-wheels that is filled with their energy, which makes it truly feel like home.
And here’s the thing as to why this means as much to me as it does. This is not just a gift, it’s a symbol of love, acceptance, and peace for all of us. It was an adjustment for my very traditional parents to accept that their daughter longed to live such an unconventional life. They did not exactly celebrate my decision to leave a well established career as a respected master’s level clinician and move into a vehicle by choice.
This is our 35 foot Class A Itasca Sunova. With the slide out, it feels like a 300 square foot mansion. My friends call me “high falutin” now and my uncle insists I’m nomadic royalty.
In addition to being glamorous and comfortable, this RV has tremendous sentimental value. It was my parents’ RV. It was cared for by two people who both passed their OCD on to me, so you know it has been meticulously maintained and is about as clean as an RV can be.
And I honor that this was difficult for them. As my father’s health declined, he wished for peace in knowing I’d be secure in his eyes. He didn’t want to leave this world with this worry on his mind. From my perspective, I had never been happier. But for my father, a practical man born in the early 1950s, he thought the whole idea was insanity. Yet he helped build every one of my rigs, from my tiny car camper to my minivan home. He may not have liked or understood my choices, but he loved me enough to support them anyway.
Before receiving their incredible gift, I did my best to reassure my father that vehicle living was not a sacrifice for me. It was my path to happiness and financial freedom. I showed him charts and graphs of how much money I saved, I shared all my travel content with him - highlighting how happy it made me. I assured him I engaged in regular situational awareness and have significant self-defense training to protect myself. Still, he worried.
When I accepted the incredible gift of this RV, it brought my father peace. At his core, my father is a provider and protector, and he wanted me to have more than a teeny tiny vehicle home. For me, one of the greatest gifts of this whole situation was realizing that I no longer had to carry the subtle ache of knowing my chosen path caused my father stress. Seeing him find peace and security by knowing I have a more traditional home base (albeit’s still on wheels), it allowed me to find a new kind of peace as well.
What also makes this gift so meaningful is that it represents not only the security my parents wanted to provide, but also their acceptance of who I truly am. While I know they once hoped I would choose a more conventional path, they also saw how deeply joyful and meaningful this life has been for me. In giving me a home-on-wheels, they weren’t asking me to become someone different, they were embracing the spirit of who I am at my core. That means more to me than I can put into words, and I will cherish it for the rest of my life.
And, the truth is, this RV has made my life better. Living in a car or minivan with a wild cattle dog, while working multiple full-time jobs at the same time, and traveling all over the continent was deeply rewarding, but it was also extraordinarily demanding. In some ways my father was right, parts of my lifestyle are insane. 🤪
But now, this RV has become a refuge. And my plans for this RV? I’m currently in the process of determining if this is the right fit for my lifestyle. The quality is superb, the beauty is wonderful - and the sentiment underneath the gift will mean so much to me always. It’s also possible that this RV isn’t the right fit for my tiny and simple nomadic dream. I might keep it, or I might sell it and give the money to my parents. If it turns out I’m not using this often, I’d rather see it have life from someone who will.
I’m going to let the Goddess decide this one.
Meet the MiniBus
I’ve wanted to be a nomad since I was 17 years old, and my earliest dreams of nomadic life involved either an old Volkswagen van, or a mini bus.
I’ve always been enchanted by schoolies. Since I was a child, I’ve felt a whisper of a past life… having once moved around Europe in a caravan wagon as a fortune teller with a traveling circus. Whether that’s imagination, symbolism, or something else entirely, I can’t say. I just know the feeling has always been there, and over the years I’ve come to trust the mysteries.
As a highly sensitive woman who does everything in my power to avoid loud sounds, bright lights, and crowds, I find it amusing that I can’t keep myself away from state and county fairs. As I’ve traveled around the continent, I’d seek out traveling carnivals and find myself completely mesmerized, called… and at home wherever these carnivals were.
To me, the schoolie is about as close as I can get to that old caravan wagon feeling in the modern world.
Ironically, I never thought this dream would materialize. After my terrible experience with my first vintage RV (see below), I vowed never again to own a vehicle where the engine and the house were attached. And yes, it is not lost on me that I now own three of those exact types of vehicles. 😆
The funny thing is, I wasn’t even shopping for a school bus. I was looking for a Chevy Suburban or Tahoe to tow a cargo trailer that I planned to convert into a four season camper. Then I found this three window bus.
I had researched short buses extensively and had never seen a three window model. It was the tiniest bus I’d ever come across. At 5’5”, the ceiling height of 5’6” is absolutely perfect. I can stand comfortably inside, and had it been any shorter, I would not have bought it. When I realized the bus had a gasoline engine, low miles, and could tow my cargo trailer, I was sold.
Once we were gifted the glorious Class A, the original plans for the mini bus changed. I had intended to live in it full time, but now it will serve three beautiful purposes: It will be my travel vessel for longer adventures when I want the simplicity of a small rig AND the ability to stand, and it will become my snowbird winter home.
Additionally, it will also become a place where I host Life Coaching and Spiritual Care Services. In some ways, it feels like the modern expression of a life I’ve been dreaming about since I was a little girl.
The bus is currently under renovation. I plan to create the layout with primarily thrift store items, showcasing how you can have a glamorous and functional home on wheels for an extremely affordable price. It will have the old European caravan wagon feel to it. Its design will feel like a warm, inviting healing office by day, and cozy, mystical tiny home by night.
As this bus is currently being renovated, I will update its progress on both my Autumn & Chloe YouTube channel, and here on this site.
Meet The Minivan Glamper
My dog Chloe and I lived in this minivan fulltime for a little over a year. During this time we traveled to Alaska and back, and we traveled all over the Mojave desert in the winter.
I believe a minivan is one of the most practical nomadic rigs out there. But just because it’s practical doesn’t mean it can’t be glamorous! I love this little genie bottle on wheels, and it has been an absolute joy to live in.
Minivans have fantastic fuel economy, are small enough to be stealthy, large enough to be cozy, and are one of the more affordable nomadic rig options out there.
For folks who became nomads through misfortune, struggle, hardship, or loss… for those who never intended to live this way, I most highly recommend the minivan as your nomadic vessel. They are stealthy enough to urban camp while working your way back to the stability you long for. They are mobile enough to take advantage of the resources of nomadic life, such as using a gym membership for showers.
You can live in a minivan camper while working a perfectly normal job in the city, and no one would ever need to know. They can be built out in as little as a day. My fantastic build took about a week to build and it cost less than $1K. And if your life changes, minivans can be converted right back into an ordinary vehicle.
I have continued build plans for this minivan camper. I’d like to rearrange the items on the roof as I think they look a little silly. Because I lived in the minivan fulltime, I needed 200 watts of solar to charge my power station so that I could have fridge and the ability to charge all of my devices for work. Now that this is a part-time camper, I can manage with less solar.
Additionally, the cargo box is currently turned sideways which has been a struggle for my OCD (or one could argue, exposure therapy! 😄). However, it’s functional, and while full-time, I needed to choose function over beauty. That said, I intend to create a different roof set up that will allow for both function and beauty. Additionally, I’d like to enhance my build to include a pullout kitchen.
While updates to the minivan are lower priorities as I prepare the Class A and the Mini Bus for full-time living and travel, I’m love taking this little glamper on short trips, and I’m eager to create an enhanced build.
Meet The Cargo Trailer
I did not expect to own this cargo trailer. In fact, it may be one of the most surprising purchases I’ve ever made. You could say the purchase was impulsive, but I don’t think that’s quite right. Really, it was necessary.
I had been living and working full time in my minivan for six months, and the terrible ergonomics of such a tiny space were taking a toll on my body. My back hurt, my knees hurt, my hips hurt. I knew that if I didn’t make changes to my work setup, I risked creating permanent pain.
My first solution was my beautiful glamping office-tent in the forest (see below). For two months, it worked wonderfully. Then I brought it to the desert for the winter. While I suspected the desert storms might not allow the tent to stay up all season, I certainly didn’t expect it to fail on the very first night! I checked the weather forecast before pitching the tent, but the desert had other plans.
By this point, my body had experienced the relief of a healthy workstation in the office-tent, and I panicked at the thought of returning to full time work inside the minivan. I realized that I needed a hard shell tent that could sustain desert storms, and I needed one fast!
So I said a prayer, “Spirit, I believe You want my body healthy and well so that I can do good work. Please bring me to a hard shell tent with ease.”
And, with ease, there she was.
This simple little cargo trailer appeared at the right place, the right price, from a kind seller, with a sale that felt effortless from beginning to end. Stealth cargo trailers are exceptionally well built and hold their value. And, from the moment I saw it, the trailer had fantastic energy.
I asked the previous owner about its history. He told me it had originally been purchased new in Maine and used for a cross country move. He later used it to haul his side-by-side before eventually selling it to me. I believe one of these previous owners put a blessing on this trailer. I felt both uplifted and at ease when I entered it - and the energy felt intentionally placed there.
The interior design came together almost as quickly as the purchase itself. I started with a blank slate, and before long Hestia, Goddess of Home and Hearth, seemed to take over. That always happens when I start creating spaces. Somehow I ended up with camping rugs on the walls, inexpensive but functional Walmart drawers, popup camping tables wrapped in shower curtain fabric that cost all of $11, and a five inch memory foam mattress serving as a make-shift couch.
I still slept in my minivan camper, but I needed an office, and I needed it fast. This glamorous, no build, super simple hard shell tent came together in less than a week. A quick stop at Ross Dress for Less in Lake Havasu City for beautiful flowers was the finishing touch.
And I had plans for this beauty.
Originally, I intended to buy a tow vehicle, probably a Chevy Suburban, and eventually convert this trailer into a four season camper. Then I found the mini bus. Even after buying the bus, I still planned to build out this trailer into the ultimate insulated nomadic cabin.
I had the entire floor plan mapped out in my mind… 1200 watts of solar, 600 amp hours of LiPo4 battery storage, air conditioning, a diesel heater, beautiful French doors built into the rear hatch that would open onto a little porch when lowered.
The four season element mattered because climate control has always been my greatest challenge as a nomad. Too often, the weather decides when I have to leave places I would rather stay. I dreamed of building a trailer so well insulated that I could choose where I wanted to live based on joy instead of temperature.
Then my parents gifted me the incredible Class A.
Almost overnight, the Class A checked nearly every box that the cargo trailer was meant to fill. It offered excellent insulation, fantastic climate control, and the ability to comfortably live off grid through much of the year.
For now, the trailer serves as storage and lives at a storage facility in town. Technically, it’s for sale, although I haven’t formally listed it. I’m asking $5,500, which honestly feels like a steal for this brand and quality.
But then again… maybe I’ll keep it. Maybe someday I’ll build the four season camper I’ve been dreaming about since the day I bought it. Maybe one day I’ll buy land and this will be my guest house or a storage shed.
Or maybe I’ll sell it.
I’m going to let the Goddess decide this one too.
Meet The Glamping Tent
Living for two months out of this tent was like living in an enchanted forest fairy tale. There was something about living on the ground that I deeply needed during my tent era. I had spent the previous six months wisping my way across the North American continent in my minivan on an Alaska expedition, and I needed to ground. So what better way to ground than to literally live on the ground?
This tent was dreamy. I mostly slept in the secure hard walls of my minivan camper, but spent nearly all of my daylight hours in the tent, working, lounging, and simply being. The arched entrance led me to call my view “The Cathedral Forest.” I loved the earth tones of the canvas and the earthy colors of the décor. After a high energy, vibrant summer, I found myself craving calm, subdued surroundings.
The few nights I did sleep in the tent, I loved every minute of it. In fact, I miss this tent. I still own it, along with all of its furnishings. Those months sparked dreams of beautiful canvas tents sturdy enough to withstand desert storms, or perhaps one day, a grand bell tent sitting atop a simple wooden deck on a homestead.
The two months I spent living this way are memories I cherish. I’m not entirely sure what the future holds for this tent, but I love it enough that I plan to set it up at campsites from time to time. There is just something about being in a tent, even when I have the luxury of a Class A waiting nearby, that feels meditative, dreamy, and filled with a bit of magic.
Meet ‘Ol Clunky
Ol’ Cluck was my 1991 Itasca Spirit RV, my first experience with true buyer’s remorse, and a mirror into my own soul. Did you know an inanimate object can reflect your internal relational landscape with a clarity that can scare you?
I never thought one could have a toxic relationship with a recreational vehicle, but one can. First, there was the literal toxicity, mold, rot, mouse droppings, and some mysterious smell that I can only assume came from a black tank that hadn’t been used in decades. And then there was the psychological toxicity.
I’ve worked for well over a decade with both survivors and the court-mandated offending side of intimate partner violence. As survivor myself, I know these dynamics all too well…the romance, the hope, the
confusion, the subtle devaluation, the mounting tension, the explosion, the relief, the recommitment, the desperate belief that if I just worked harder, loved better, or fixed one more thing, everything would finally be okay.
And somehow, against all reason, I found myself acting out those very same dynamics with an old RV. The irony was not lost on me. I loved this RV. And, I hated this RV.
When I bought her, what I wanted was devotion. I wanted to love her the way I loved my little car camper, I wanted a lifelong partnership, I entered into the relationship with that intention, and because of that, I kept trying to force something that simply wasn’t working.
Every new patch of mold or rot would send me deeper into buyer’s remorse, then anger at the seller, then anger at the RV itself, then anger at myself… “I was impulsive! I should have known better! This misery is my own fault!”
Then the guilt would arrive.
Maybe she was just old. Maybe I was expecting too much. Maybe I was the problem. I even kicked the poor thing a few times in frustration, only to apologize to her afterward, recommit myself to the renovation, proclaim that we were going to make it work, and then watch another disaster unfold as the cycle began all over again.
My friends would have to pull me back to reality.
“Autumn… you do realize this is just a rusty, moldy hunk of metal, right?” And somehow that only made me more existential, marveling that rot alone could hold such profound lessons about projection, attachment, forgiveness, accountability, and the strange ways human beings create meaning.
As silly as it sounds, this RV became one of my greatest teachers. It showed me my own shadows, it showed me where I projected devotion instead of seeing reality clearly, and it reminded me that loving something deeply does not obligate me to keep investing in it forever.
When the engine finally suffered a catastrophic failure, I gave her away. She had actually been listed for sale, but I took the listing down because I couldn’t sell her in good conscience. More importantly, I knew I had to let go quickly, because I feared that if she remained nearby, I’d convince myself to try one more repair, spend one thousand more, give one more chance.
Looking back, this realization may have been the greatest lesson of all: I lost $22,000, but I got my life back. And while I would never wish that experience on anyone, it changed me for the better.
Disclaimer: The intimate partner violence referenced in this story did not involve my former husband. In fact, he remains one of the kindest and most positive relationships of my life. Given that I shared this publicly, I don’t want to include information that could lead to assumptions. After all, accuracy about a wonderful man’s character, matters to me.
This little car camper here, it just might be the most creative thing I’ve ever done. And, I lived in it for nearly TWO YEARS! This is a part of my life story that I adore. If I went back in time and was able to tell myself at the age of 7, and then at the age of 17, that when I was 38 years old I would convert a teeny tiny car into a tiny fort-on-wheels and live in it while traveling the country as a counselor, writer, and coach, I would have thought that I became the coolest adult ever!
Sure, some people think it’s odd to have aspirations and dreams such as living in a car, so I guess I’m odd. But, I’ll take odd and quirky over stagnant any day of the week. 😄
But the truth is, my original nomadic dream wasn’t to live in a car, it was to live in a van, or a minibus. So, why did I choose the car? Well, I already had it. I owned it free and clear, and I was afraid that if I waited to sell the car and buy a van I’d chicken out on the whole VanLife thing and never do it. Also, I wanted to bring some semblance of reason and responsibility to this crazy choice I was making, and ensure I loved the lifestyle before investing further into it.
Meet Little Red
2013 Nissan Sentra, 32-40 MPG
After all, in my life I’ve found that several big dreams turned out to be awful realities. For example, I always dreamed of living in San Francisco. The reality of living there was so awful it remains the only time in my life that I broke a lease to leave early. I couldn’t tolerate a year of crowds and fog. Also, I always dreamed of living on the East Coast. The reality was that the culture shock was so intense I felt like I was living in a different country, and my heart ached with a desire to be closer to my family.
So, I thought the gap between my nomadic dreams and nomadic reality might be similar. But the reality was amazing. It was different than I expected, more challenging and harder than I thought it would be, but this was it for me, I was committed. Since I’ve taken the nomadic leap, I can’t imagine any other life than a nomadic life. I’m a lifer. Sure, I’ll change my travel patterns, my rigs, and my favorite destinations, but I believe I’ll always live in homes-on-wheels.
So, back to this little car.
It was incredible. But, like the minivan, it was hard for a digital nomadic life. I lived out of the car for a year alone before I adopted my dog Chloe. During that first year I was able to work comfortably in cafés and libraries. I could go to any place I wanted at nearly any time without worrying whether the car was too hot or too cold for my dog.
Then Chloe and I lived out of the car together for another year. That wasn’t easy, and it definitely created some urgency around buying my next rig, Ol Clunk. Full-time CarLife with a dog is hard my friends.
I miss that car. Sometimes I wish I still had it and kept it as an option for travel. But I’m a minimalist, and I still have five of my seven nomadic dwelling spaces. So, apparently I’m a minimalist who hoards homes on wheels. Whoops!
I’ll always be grateful for that car, and one of the highlights of my life is that this little teeny tiny vehicle became the vessel that carried me into a life of freedom.