We’re David and PJ, a retired couple who always wanted to travel and see the world before we got too old to enjoy sleeping in a different bed every few nights.
Then the universe called our bluff.
In early 2026, a man who had lost his home a year earlier in the monster Los Angeles fires made us a cash offer for our house in Oceanside, California — fully furnished, decorated, and outfitted. We closed in early February 2026.
Suddenly, “someday we should travel” became “apparently we don’t live here anymore.”
We loaned some of our favorite art to friends, packed what would fit into our two Teslas without making us look quite as homeless as we actually were, and put what little remained—mostly clothes and legal papers—into a storage unit in Monterey County, near our kids.
And then we left.
There is no master plan. We have a long bucket list of places to go and people to see, but no particular order for seeing them. The basic idea was: go somewhere interesting, stay until it seemed like time to leave, and figure out what came next.
We talked about documenting the journey from the beginning. Good intentions and all that. But we were either having too much fun or figuring out where to go, where to stay, what to see, and how to get there.
So here we are. It’s October 2026, and we're live. We don't have commenting set up yet, but expect that to happen downstream. In the meantime, text or email us comments, especially positive ones. Send any complaints to cousin Jennifer.
No House Keys is partly about the places we go. But it’s also about what we’ve discovered by giving up a permanent address: how we travel, what we miss, what we don’t miss, and all the unexpectedly complicated practical questions that arise when you own cars, have health insurance, pay taxes, receive mail—and don’t have house keys.
We don’t know how long we’ll do this, where we’ll go next, or where we’ll eventually land.
But that’s sorta the point.