

Because nobody handed me a map.
Ten years ago I was a student turning in a thesis about digital nomads, watching my professor smile that tired smile.
Today I’m writing this from wherever the camper happens to be parked, and the road between those two points was long, unromantic, and full of detours I could have skipped.
So I drew the map I needed at nineteen:
six phases, honestly told, bruises included, so your first mile costs you less than mine did.
I’m your older sister from the internet who went first.
Take what helps. Leave the rest.