Jill yearned to sell everything and live full-time in a motorhome. For her, there existed no stronger pull than the allure of going right to the precipice of civilization and then continuing over without even slowing down. Falling into the unknown, knowing only that it’s the surest way to know you’re fucked. The sultry mix of gas fumes, septic aromas, and barely chilled vegetables rotting in an overworked traveling refrigerator combined to form an irresistible fragrance that marked a life on the move. To pack all of our belongings and hit the open road in search of deep, irreplaceable memories full of irreparable emotional traumas, that was a call she could not silence and her heart refused to ignore. Continue reading