Here we are in Okoboji, Iowa, a couple of days after Thanksgiving, watching the snow fall and wondering why we ever left a place where “jacket” usually meant “light flannel at sunset.” The memory of warm days in shorts, red rock spires, and trails right out the front door keeps calling us back to Sedona, and honestly, we’re tempted to answer. We spent two months there, able to step outside and immediately be surrounded by red rocks, winding paths, and views that belong on postcards or at least someone’s laptop background.
As many of you know, Sedona was our first chapter in this new nomadic adventure. Naturally, the big questions are: What did we learn? What did we love? And what turned out to be a little more challenging than this lifestyle lets on?
For starters, we confirmed that we really like some of our “things.” Not all of them, no one misses the junk drawer, but a few key items made the VIP list: our pillows, our sheets, our favorite kitchen knife, and even our soaps. It might sound silly, but if you’re staying in one place for a couple of months, having your own stuff is a game changer. I laughed when Katie insisted we pack our sheets, then did a complete 180 the first night we peeled off the scratchy rental linens and slid into our own bamboo sheets. It’s the little things that make a place feel like home when you’re out exploring.
We also learned that living like you’re on vacation is a fantastic way to light your budget on fire especially in Sedona. After a couple of $90 dinners for just the two of us, we realized the grocery store and our own kitchen needed to become our default plan, not the backup. That doesn’t mean we skipped Sedona’s food scene; we still enjoyed some great meals at places like Elote, Gerardo’s, and Sedona Eatz. But both our pocketbook and our waistlines gently suggested that eating out all the time was not a sustainable lifestyle, and let’s be honest: when you go out, no one gets excited about ordering the salad.
What did we absolutely love? Our location. We were one block from the grocery store, one block from the brewery, and one block from a trailhead. It was basically the nomad trifecta. More often than not, we walked everywhere instead of getting into the truck, which helped offset at least a few of those tacos and beers. Being surrounded by trails meant there was no shortage of opportunities to get into nature; the Red Rock Ranger District around Sedona has hundreds of trails stretching across hundreds of miles. Rest days almost disappeared and most evenings after work, we found ourselves out hiking or mountain biking instead of scrolling on the couch.
Another unexpected highlight was living in a dark sky community. Sure, it made walking to dinner or the grocery store at night feel a bit like a low-budget survival challenge, but the tradeoff was worth it. Night hikes and evening rides came with incredible star-filled skies as a reward, and one night we even got treated to an unbelievable display of northern lights. When the sky looks like that, it’s hard to complain about tripping over a curb or fumbling for your headlamp.
So what were the challenges? For us, it all came back to people and community. Sedona is a very transient town. Almost every new conversation started with, “Are you just visiting?” If you say yes, you’re often quietly filed under “tourist,” which is code for “nice to meet you, please spend generously before you go.” But when we answered, “No, we’re new to town and living behind the grocery store for a couple of months,” everything shifted. People opened up, became more welcoming, and invited us into real conversations. It’s just tough to build a sense of belonging in a resort town where tourists seem to outnumber locals ten to one.
Overall, this first stop in Sedona taught us that we love easy access to nature, walkable neighborhoods, and a few familiar comforts from home—and that the hardest, and most important, part of this nomadic adventure might be finding real community wherever we land next.