I’m nearly 50. Menopausal. Sleeping in a Prado (sometimes).. & it’s fucking glorious!

Sometimes, I’m curled up under a doona in a stranger’s home, surrounded by someone else’s furniture, feeding someone else’s dog, living someone else’s routine.

Other times, I’m parked under the stars with nothing but the ocean breeze, my jet boil & the quiet hum of “I chose this.”

Then in between the two, is sacred chaos & I’m loving every bloody second of it.

I guess you could call it a hybrid life.

One part roaming soul, one part deeply grounded caretaker.

When I’m not on a pet sit, the Prado is home.. & when I say home, I mean it.

Her name is Monty. 

Yeah, I know.. she’s a girls girl with my Dads name… we just roll with it!

She’s been a late night therapist, a safe place in the storms (& literal ones ⛈️) & my ride or die sunrise ocean loving friend.

It’s not a glamorous life. 

I thought it would be more like the instagrammable van lifers pages. 

But it’s more of a hot sweaty mess of trackies or bikinis, frazzled dreads, sound meditation equipment, creative overloads or spiritual downloads & bugs, flies, mozzies...

But..  I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Then there’s the flipside.. 

When I am in someone else’s home, caring for their pets, holding their space, honouring their sacred routines, that is a different kind of freedom.

It’s not my furniture.

Not my fridge.

Not my bed.

But it is my calling.

To a lot of people, living this way would feel ungrounded.

Unstable.

Uncertain.

But for me?

It’s an honour. 

There’s a kind of clarity that comes with letting go of “home” as a fixed address.

I’ve realised that it brings a kind of nervous system regulation, that can only come from reconnecting with nature & surrendering to a life without corporate conformity. 

I wake up either in nature or a house, greeted with doggie morning breath or the birds chatting over coffee, power points & electricity or a portable fire pit, hot water or the ocean.. two different worlds that coexist & flow, like breathing. 

There’s something to be said about not having a base… but knowing you are always being held.

By the road.

By Spirit.

By the universe saying, “You’re doing it your way. Keep going.”

This isn’t a breakdown. 

This is a breakthrough.

I left the job.

Let go of the house.

Watched the holiday of my dreams slip through my fingers because life had other plans.

But it wasn’t failure.

It was a redirection.

Spirit said not yet & handed me something I didn’t see coming:

A business I didn’t know I needed. 

A deeper mission I didn’t know existed.

A soul journey you can’t put on a vision board.

So yeah. I might be turning 50 in December. 

Processing this menopausal awakening.

Readjusting to saying ‘no fixed address’.

Learning to meant the uncomfortable edges of myself. 

Existing in a world that I never quite fit into, finally accept me for me.

I’m surrounded by animals who love me, a community that’s finding me & living a truth that’s more real than anything I’ve ever known:

I am exactly where I’m meant to be & it’s fucking glorious.

This is your permission to go live your life however TF you want & stop giving a shit about what other people think about it.

Much love always, 

Trina 🌊☀️