22 states and 10 national parks in 60 days. ChatGPT planned the route.
We’ve packed up the camper and are ready to hit the road this Sunday.
Thanks to Starlink and a variety of Wi-Fi hotspots, I'll be adventure-working alongside my family this summer, with our SUV as my conference room and nature as my office.
Why?
I suppose when your top three values are curiosity, courage, and adventure, you do crazy shit like this.
Because I believe it's important to take on challenging endeavors, seek new adventures, and create deeper connections with myself and my loved ones.
Because, as Michael Easter states in The Comfort Crisis: Embrace Discomfort To Reclaim Your Wild, Happy, Healthy Self: “We are living progressively sheltered, sterile, temperature-controlled, overfed, underchallenged, safety-netted lives.”
I’ve gotten more and more settled into 68 – 72°F. I eat food each night that comes delivered in a box. I’m staring at screens, witnessing other people's adventures on Instagram, while missing out on living my own. It's time for human rewilding, reconnecting with nature, and restoring a sense of well-being.
I’m NOT going “off grid” (we’ll, perhaps only a couple times). In fact, I expect to be more present than ever. Nature and work are not dichotomous realms that must exist at opposite ends of a spectrum. I'm fortunate that one positive outcome of the pandemic is the rise of digital nomads, individuals who have the freedom and flexibility to work remotely.
What people and companies get in return for getting into nature:
Enhanced creativity and problem-solving
Reduced stress and improved well-being
Increased focus and concentration
Better collaboration and culture
Enhanced employee engagement (= higher levels of retention)
And in terms of my own personal journey, committing to time outdoors provides sustenance and sustainability.
When I share this news of our great adventure, the reaction can be one of "I could never..." or "What about..."—a million little guardrails narrowing the path until we hit a wall. What I'm truly hearing is: That sounds hard. I'm not interested.
"Didn't you already do this? Isn't this off your bucket list?" That's another reaction. My family spent a few months in a camper during the pandemic. We were even featured on The Today Show sharing our experience.
But no, it’s not over. It was only the beginning.
Easter also states in The Comfort Crisis: “In newness we are forced into presence and focus. Newness can even slow down our sense of time. This explains why time seemed slower when we were kids.”
And so, today I invite you to join me in the following ways:
Embrace discomfort and seek new adventures: By challenging ourselves and stepping out of our comfort zones, we open doors to personal and professional growth, fostering creativity, resilience, and a renewed sense of curiosity. Sometimes the mountain we’re climbing requiring us to embark on a journey of acquiring new knowledge, forge meaningful connections, or repair broken relationships. Find the courage to do so.
Integrate nature into the work environment: Nature and work need not exist as separate entities. By incorporating outdoor experiences, outdoor meetings, and nature-inspired practices, businesses can enhance well-being, boost productivity, and foster a culture of collaboration and innovation. Start with a weekly walk. And call me when you want to get your team into the wild.
Cultivate a purpose-driven and sustainable approach: Prioritize sustainability and align your practices with a greater mission.
In this one wild and precious life, it's time to break free from the confines of comfort, reconnect with nature, and unlock the boundless potential that lies within ourselves and our businesses.
I look forward to sharing stories of our experiences along the journey here in my newsletter. To follow along visually, check out our Instagram (and please, share your adventures too!)
Poem 133: The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
—Mary Oliver