The In-Between: A Different kind of Camping

 

We’ve moved out. Not just out of the house—but out of the old way of doing life.

Right now, we’re not quite gone, but we’re not staying either.

We’ve parked our caravan in my daughter’s garden—our temporary camp while I finish work until the end of May.

It’s two months of trial and training, mess and magic. This isn’t just a getaway—it’s the beginning of a lifestyle. The beginning of becoming.

And let me tell you—this is camping on a different level.

We’re getting used to the small space.

To each other’s habits and rhythms in a space where even a kettle has a personality.

To lights on, lights off. To who snores, who talks in their sleep, and who moves the dish towel.

We’re figuring out what to take, what to give away, what to store—and what to bless and release with a deep breath and a “thank you for your service.”

This is mental prep as much as it is physical.

We’re testing, tweaking, and learning—how to pack things so they don’t explode when we hit a pothole.

What’s worth space, and what’s just clutter in disguise.

How to live together in 5 square meters without losing our minds (or our toothbrushes).

It’s not glamorous.

But it’s real.

And strangely, beautifully—this in-between is sacred.

Because this isn’t just a pause before the big trip.

This is the trip.

This is where the transformation starts.

Did something here speak to you?

Leave a comment if you feel moved, or simply sit with me in quiet.

If you’d like to walk this road with me, follow Nomadic Grandmother for new stories.

— x Elsabe