8,376 Great Memories

colesjoholm
May 7
3 min read

It’s been exactly 8,376 days since I moved to Colorado on June 1, 2002—just 23 days shy of 23 years.

I’m not saying Colorado isn’t home anymore… but I’m also not saying it is. That’s the paradox of being “homeless.” Everywhere is home, and nowhere is home. I’ll still proudly wear my SnapBack Highlands Distillery hat with the Colorado logo—it will always be part of who I am.

When I landed at GJT on Friday, May 2nd around 6 p.m.—my first time back since February—the setting sun lit up the Colorado National Monument like an old friend waving hello. There was comfort in that moment. A familiar arrival gate I’ve passed through dozens (and dozens) of times. But also a twinge of emptiness. No cats. No house. Just friends, coworkers, and a storage unit full of things I no longer need in this next chapter.

The weekend was a blur—squeezing in work appointments, reconnecting with friends, and clearing out the last of my belongings. By 5 p.m. on Tuesday, May 6th, the to-do list was done, including a couple of medical check-ins.

Now it’s just me, a medium roller bag, a duffle, and a backpack filled with my camera, laptop, and a life in motion. I carry what I own—and the memories of the people and places that shaped the old me. (See what I did there? Words matter.)

I’ll still be originating mortgage loans, booking travel for clients, and freelancing for national travel publications—but I may be even less physically visible in Grand Junction than I’ve been over the past two and a half years. That doesn’t mean I’m working any less. In fact, my drive to figure out how to sustain this lifestyle is stronger than ever.

Looking back 25 years—to my 18-year-old self fresh out of high school—traveling the world was always the dream. I remember loading up my teal Grand Am and driving cross-country to start a new life in Las Vegas. Naïve but driven. Hopeful. Ambitious. And in many ways, not much has changed.

Solo travel wasn’t part of the plan. But I’ve grown to love it. I’ve embraced a life built by design. It’s taken hard work, sacrifice, and a few big leaps of faith—but I’m here. Living it.

I still pinch myself. I cry often—both the joyful and the heavy kinds. But I smile more than ever. My wings are spread, and I’m once again flying into the unknown with peace in my heart and purpose in my stride.

And yes—I’m really proud of myself. That’s not something I’ve always been able to say. But right now, en route to Alaska by cruise ship, land, and train, I’m ready to reconnect with nature, simplicity, and the minimalist mindset I crave. I believe that returning to a place where trees outnumber people will help me re-center. It feels like coming home to my roots in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.

There have been few moments in life as uncomfortable as this one—and yet I’m not scared. I feel calm. Peaceful. I know this is right for me.

To the friends I caught up with in Grand Junction: Thank you. Your excitement, encouragement, and support mean more than I can ever say. I know some of you I missed, but your messages reminded me how lucky I am to be in your hearts.

I don’t know when I’ll be back in Colorado. It’s been a great home, and I’m not ready to let go of that identity entirely. But right now, home is wherever my heart takes me—and my heart is still spinning around the globe. There may come a time when I settle down again, but for now, this chapter remains open-ended.

This is the life I dreamed of for 25+ years. Now that I’m here, I trust it’s the right time, place, and version of me to live it.

I visited country #50 a few weeks ago. I’ll hit 63 by the end of this year and should pass 70 by March 2026.

I’ll keep reminding myself (and maybe you too): the destinations are just the backdrop. The real story is the people we meet, the growth we experience, and the courage it takes to keep going.

Thanks for following along.

Over and out,

Cole

Digital Nomad