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In 2023, I lost my soul dog, Chubbs. He had been with me for 14 years through every apartment, every move, and even a cross-country relocation from Texas to New York.

When he passed, it felt like someone had pulled the anchor from my life. I didn’t just lose my dog; I lost my sense of safety and the steady presence that had guided every chapter of my adult life. The grief felt overwhelming.

In the quiet that followed, my husband and I started asking hard questions about what “home” really meant. We’d both spent years chasing careers, paying rent in cities that never felt permanent.

So, we did something radical: We sold almost everything we owned, from our furniture to our books, and bought an RV.

We had no intention of settling down anywhere; life on the road was our near and distant future plan.

Being on the road had challenges, but we enjoyed living day to day

Those first months on the road were a crash course in patience and perspective.

Every day, we woke up to the hum of nature and winding highways. We worked remotely wherever we parked, building a life that could fit inside a 32-foot space.

We spent a few peaceful months in North Carolina, surrounded by trees and cool air, and almost stayed. In Pennsylvania and Kentucky, we discovered unexpected beauty in small towns and winding back roads.

Arizona and New Mexico, though, were a little tougher — we found them a bit too dry and stark, and longed for the ocean and more greenery. Each place taught us its own lesson about what felt like home and what didn’t.

Life on the road wasn’t always easy, but it gave me the quiet I needed to heal after losing Chubbs.

The more miles we drove, though, the clearer it became that I didn’t just want to keep moving. I wanted to build a life that felt full again, something steady and rooted that my dog would have loved, too.

After two years, we wound up in Galveston

Eventually, the road led us to Galveston, a Texas Gulf Coast island that had always held a piece of my heart.

Growing up in Texas, my family had vacationed here often, and I was instantly hit with nostalgia and happy memories. I felt right at home with the salty air, laid-back island vibe, and Historic Strand District, a commercial area with many of Galveston’s oldest buildings.

At first, it was just another stop; we thought we’d stay for a few weeks. However, we were wrong.

The island’s mix of old-world charm and creative energy is unlike anywhere else in Texas. There’s art on every corner, history in every building, and a deep sense of community that instantly made us feel like family.

After years of constant motion, we finally felt rooted.

In my new home, I found community and creativity again

Settling in Galveston reignited something I hadn’t realized I had lost: creative connection.

I began writing again and eventually joined a local publication focused on the arts, where I help tell the stories of the island’s artists, musicians, and makers.

Now, my work feels personal and purposeful, even though it looks less like the corporate life I led in the past.

I’ve met so many people who also came to Galveston after a big life change or loss, and found peace in the island’s slower rhythm.

This city has a way of bringing people together, whether through a shared love of art, a late open-mic jam, or a quick chat over coffee at one of the local hot spots.

In my experience, the people in Galveston are warm and welcoming. Whenever I go to a grocery store or even for a walk on the Seawall, I find myself in conversation with a few BOIs (Born on the Island) or IBCs (Islander By Choice), all curious about my travels.

Galveston brought me a sense of peace

When Chubbs died, I lost my sense of home. For two years, every place we parked the RV felt temporary, a stopover rather than a destination.

I kept hoping that somewhere along the way, the road itself would heal me, but I learned that grief doesn’t disappear when you keep moving. It follows you until you stop for long enough to face it.

Galveston was the first place that made me want to stay.

The rhythm of the waves reminded me of those quiet RV mornings when the world felt still, but here, there was something more: people, community, connection. The same serenity I’d found on the road existed here, just grounded by roots instead of wheels.

After years of living everywhere and nowhere, planting roots feels both strange and sacred. Some mornings I still expect to pack up and go, but then I’ll catch the smell of salt in the air or head to my favorite coffee spot, and I remember why we stayed.

The island may not be where I thought I’d end up, but in Galveston, I found what I’d actually been chasing all along: a place that feels like home.