The morning we hit the road for Morongo Valley, I couldn’t tell if I was more excited or more anxious—or maybe just straight-up tired from not sleeping. Normally I sleep like a rock, but that night? My brain was on full spin cycle. Woke up feeling like shit. Head all stuffed up, back creaky, and nerves doing their usual bullshit.

Here’s something most people don’t know about me: I have high anxiety. Like, the real kind that sometimes tries to slide into full-blown panic attacks if I don’t stay on top of it. Long-ass story. Maybe I’ll get into that someday. But for now, just know—these trips with Nanook? They’ve been my therapy. And I swear to god, they’re working.

The drive wasn’t bad—long, but not miserable. Weather was decent except for those crazy-ass high winds that made it feel like the car was trying to fly off the road. Nanook only whined half the time, with that high-pitched husky voice that could peel paint. We stopped every couple hours to stretch, pee, breathe, reset. By the time we rolled into Morongo Valley, the heat had turned up big time. Desert sun hits different—like it’s trying to melt your damn face off. But weirdly, it felt kind of good.

Our little casita was tucked back in the valley—quirky, quiet, this cool mash-up of boho charm and retro desert soul. Olive trees swayed in the dusty breeze, and the mountains just wrapped around us like they’d been expecting us. The heat clung to everything, but the dry air made it bearable. And once that sun dipped behind the ridge? Pure magic. That’s the thing about the desert—it might roast you alive by day, but come nightfall, it soothes the hell out of you. I pulled on a hoodie and sat under the stars like it was the most normal, perfect thing.

The next few days were slow on purpose. That was the whole damn point. Mornings were quiet and golden. Afternoons meant hiding from the sun—me in a hammock, Nanook passed out in the shade like he’d just crossed the Sahara. Evenings were the sweet spot. I love desert nights. Cool air, dark skies, total peace. I honestly had never laid in a hammock before.

I brought some Hello Fresh meals this time—some already cooked, some ready to throw together—because trying to find a dog-friendly restaurant at night? Yeah, no thanks. A lot of places don’t have outdoor seating, and it’s just not worth the stress. The casita had a sweet little kitchen, super well-stocked. I actually like cooking on trips now—total switch from my younger self, who thought travel meant eating out every meal. Now? Give me a good pan and a glass of wine, and I’m happy. No fuss, no weird looks, just me and Nanook doing our thing.

Palm Springs? Hotter than Satan’s breath. One day it crept up to nearly 100. Nanook was over it before we even got out of the damn car. I looked like I was auditioning for a wet t-shirt contest. (Hilarious, but also true.) We strolled the cute streets, hit up El Patio downtown for a taco salad, a cold beer, and a strawberry margarita that tasted like summer. I always order Nanook a beef patty or something decent if we’re eating out—he deserves it. A little kid walked by us and said Nanook’s face looked like a cartoon. 😊 I think that now every time I really look at his face! 😊 It helps me socialize with people in the area because he attracts attention. Sometimes that’s good and sometimes it’s not. But he is handsome and such a good boy.

That day, I actually dressed up a little—khaki green flowy skirt, oatmeal-colored tank sweater, Panama hat, green ankle boots. Way more style than my usual white stained tee and hoodie combo that Nanook’s used to. I added some boho jewelry, and you know what? I felt pretty. I’m not hiding anymore. It’s part of my self-care—letting myself show up as me, unfiltered and unbothered.

The next afternoon we went back to Palm Springs when the weather finally chilled out—cool and breezy, totally perfect. We hit all my must-see spots: Forever Marilyn (she’s massive and iconic), the midcentury homes, Sinatra’s place, Robolights (which is just batshit crazy in the best way), and of course, the Trixie Motel—pure pink chaos and so much fun. The sunset was the showstopper. That pink-gold haze the desert throws around? It’s like glitter in the air. I had a full Marilyn Monroe moment when the breeze picked up and my skirt lifted. Nanook looked mortified.

The sunset was the showstopper. That pink-gold haze the desert throws around? It’s like glitter in the air. I had a full Marilyn Monroe moment when the breeze picked up and my skirt lifted. Nanook looked mortified.

The desert gets into your bones in the best way. It strips you down, then builds you back up. And even when you’re tired, sunburned, a little unsure of what the hell you’re doing—it gives you cool nights, wild skies, and that kind of quiet peace you just can’t fake.

I swear, deserts are magical. Mystical, even. There’s something ancient and electric in the air—like the land’s carrying secrets way older than any of us, and if you’re quiet long enough, it might just whisper one to you. I’ve never felt more grounded and more free at the same time. It’s not just a landscape—it’s a whole damn vibe. The desert gets into your bones in the best way. It strips you down, then builds you back up. And even when you’re tired, sunburned, a little unsure of what the hell you’re doing—it gives you cool nights, wild skies, and that kind of quiet peace you just can’t fake.

Another day we hit the Cabazon Dinosaurs—yep, those giant roadside beasts you’ve probably seen in movies. It was so windy I thought we were gonna get blown into Jurassic Park. Nanook loved walking around and sniffing all the weird dino legs. Classic road trip kitsch, and we were here for it.

That afternoon, we wandered through the town of Joshua Tree. We’d already done the national park back in January, so we kept it chill. The town itself is its own thing—odd, artsy, dusty, adorable. We stopped by the World Famous Crochet Museum—tiny, neon green, stuffed with yarn-made everything. It was weird as hell and totally amazing.

We wrapped it up at Joshua Tree Saloon, where I had a damn good hamburger, some coleslaw, and a cold local wheat beer. (Highly recommend the Joshua Tree Brewing “Cosmic Wheat”—smooth, citrusy, perfect desert beer.) Then it was back to the casita for one more cozy night. Nanook had his Farmer’s Dog dinner—trying to keep him healthy even though road trips make him a little constipated, poor guy—and I kept it light with just a snack. I don’t like eating heavy when I know I’ve got a long drive coming. Just makes life easier the next day. Trust me.

I packed up the car, curled into bed, and finally got a solid night’s sleep. Early the next morning, we hit the road again—off to Flagstaff, Arizona. About a six-hour drive and a whole new adventure ahead.

These road trips? They’re not just about checking places off a list. They’re about piecing myself back together. Finding the me I used to mute. The me who isn’t afraid to be seen. A little sunburned, a little more healed, and finally… breathing. And honestly?

That’s what freedom feels like.

~Peace Out, Charlotte and Nanook