I used to work in an office like most people. One day, I walked in wearing just a t-shirt while it was cold and raining. A colleague made a comment about it. Without thinking, I replied: “We’re developers. Seasons are a concept, not really a reality we need to deal with.”

It was meant as a joke, but it stayed with me.

I’d drive in my air-conditioned car to my air-conditioned office, spend the whole day inside, and the only time I’d actually feel the weather was walking from door to car. Over time, I started feeling off. Not unhappy, just… empty. Like I wasn’t really feeling much of anything.

Around that time, my girlfriend went traveling. I wanted to join her, but I couldn’t. Because of that same job. Something in me shifted.

When she came back, we decided to buy a van and turn it into a home. We left our apartment, and over the course of three months, we built our home on wheels. I quit my job, and we hit the road.

That’s two years ago now.

Since then, we’ve traveled through Spain, Portugal, Greece, Italy, Austria, the Czech Republic, Belgium, Norway, Sweden, and a handful of islands in between. Along the way, I learned how to scuba dive, how to surf, and how to live in a space barely big enough for two people, two dogs, and a cat.

Somewhere along this journey, I realised I had let go of comfort. In a van, space is limited, and you're far away from home, so everything becomes intentional. Possessions, obligations, even relationships. I started to see very clearly what is essential and what isn’t. Over time, things became simpler. Clearer. Lighter.

I learned to think in essentials. To strip things back until only what matters remains.