Howdy from the road,
I’m writing this from a 10×10 study room in a public library because today is the first day I haven’t felt like a fraud.
In August, I turn sixty. It will mark five years of living in my 2007 Jeep Patriot with my service dog, Meegan.And a total of almost 40 years on the road in various other rigs. But, for over twenty years, I tried to be a “content creator,” but I was petrified of actually sharing my truth. I watched 10,000 YouTube videos looking for the “secret sauce,” but I’ve finally realized that watching videos is just a way to avoid doing the work. It makes the “unorganized” feeling louder.
So today, I’m throwing out the instructions. I’m just hitting publish and letting the process work itself out.
From the Ghost Fleet to the Jeep Patriot
Most people think of “adulting” as having a mortgage and a cubicle. My version of adulting for 28 years was hauling everything from Patriot missiles during Desert Storm, nuclear fuel rods, and millions of dollars in untraceable currency for the DoD and finally electric motors and power tools. I was “Shotgun trained” and specialized in zero-margin logistics.
It is a strange irony that I spent my youth hauling the most dangerous cargo on the planet, only to find myself reclaiming my life inside a Jeep Patriot.
When I first hit the road in this Jeep in 2021, I was paralyzed. I was afraid of the dark. I watched “I Am Legend” and saw zombies in every shadow. I wouldn’t even crack a window to breathe. But five years in the desert has a way of grinding the fear out of you.
The Gnat-Brain Defense
I used to think being “homeless” or “neurodivergent” meant I was out of control. I was wrong. I was just between missions.
Now, my mission is built on precision systems:
- The Commute: A 6-mile victory lap to town with a prayer of thanks and a barking co-pilot.
- The Life Support: Tal 50 OZ Everett jugs (Model #WM2606) filled with precision ice from Watermill Island.
- The Manual Override: When my autistic brain hits a “Gnat-Brain Hijack” and the overwhelm makes me want to ditch work, I use my secret architecture. I stare at the library ceiling. I clear the cache, center the system, and get back to the keyboard.
The View from the 24-Inch Mattress
I’m as much of an expert as I’m ever going to be. I’ve spent five years learning how to use AI as my “Dual Driver” to organize the parts of my life that the world calls “messy.”
I don’t have a “real job” because I’m busy building a real empire. Currently my office is a library study room, my bed is a 24-inch piece of foam, and my co-pilot is a dog who doesn’t care about my credit score.
I’m not a “Rat Race Refugee” anymore. I’m the Architect of my own peace.
Best,
Vicki Boliard
The Un-Adulted Architect
