'I was just a broke backpacker travelling Australia. Then one choice flipped my life upside down.'

If you had told me two years ago that after moving to Australia I'd end up living in a van, working in the mines, and eventually sailing around Southeast Asia with a long-haired blonde surfer from Byron Bay... I would've assumed you'd hacked into my dreams. Or that you'd watched some wild fairytale the night before.

But here I am, standing barefoot on the bow of my sailboat, scanning the coastline for the next empty surf break or the day's hopeful catch. And somehow, this has become... my actual life.

The second I landed in Australia, everything changed. I'd just graduated from a university in California with an anthropology degree and everyone around me was settling into "real" adult life — the job, the apartment, the predictable plan.

But something in me was screaming, "Not yet." Not because I didn't want stability, but because I knew if I stepped into that life too soon, I might never step out of it.

So I bought a one-way ticket and flew across the world with a backpack and not nearly enough money.

Like most broke backpackers in Australia, I figured I'd live in a van to save money. The only difference was, apparently my van came with an Australian.

Watch: How this Aussie family swapped living at home for travelling in their van. Post continues below.

I met Jesse in a hostel, he had sun-bleached hair and the kind of smile that makes you forget what you were saying.

He'd spent his childhood travelling the world, including driving around Australia in a camper van until he was 12. When I told him my plan, he didn't even blink.

"Easy," he said. "I'll show you everything."

And let's be honest… the fact he was ridiculously sexy definitely helped.

As we drove down the coast, we'd talk about how incredible it would be to actually live on the ocean.

We talked about what it would be like to have a sailboat, to wake up on the water, to see the whole world from a deck instead of a shoreline.

But at that point, that dream felt so far away it might as well have lived on another planet. So we focused on what felt possible: travelling around Australia in our little van and stretching every dollar we had.

Except, the van didn't make it.

Somewhere in Western Australia, it blew up, like, properly died, and suddenly we were stranded on the side of the road with nothing but our surfboards and a dream that felt even further away.

So, with no van, no money, and no backup plan, we took mining jobs in the middle of nowhere to rebuild our savings.

FIFO life was a shock. One minute we were living in the bush on our weeks off — showering with a bucket and sleeping under the stars, and the next we'd be stepping into 50-degree heat, working long shifts in the middle of the outback.

It was gritty, hard, exhausting work, the kind of work that makes you question what you're made of. But it also did something unexpected.

It made the impossible dream... possible.

One night, sitting in our dusty work boots and counting our pay for the week, we realised something.

"If we keep going," Jesse said, "we could actually get a boat at the end of the year."

A sailboat. Our sailboat.

And suddenly, the dream we'd whispered in the van didn't feel so ridiculous.

So we went all in. We saved every dollar. We lived simply, even when everyone around us was spending their big mining pay on Jetskis and nights out. We flew in and out of the desert, worked, rested and worked again.

We spent our off-weeks camping in the bush to avoid rent. It was intense, but it came with pride. We were building something no one else could see yet.

And then it happened.

We found her in Malaysia: a Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 39i. She was perfect, and she was ours. Her name is Stella.

There was just one small problem, we didn't actually know how to sail.

Camille on her sailboat, Stella. Image: Supplied.

Camille with her partner on their sailboat. Image: Supplied.

Most people would take a course or hire an instructor or at least watch a few YouTube videos. But because I'm with a man who believes "winging it" is a legitimate life strategy, we just… went for it.

We learnt by doing. By trying. By failing. By asking friendly cruisers at anchorages far too many questions. And somehow, piece by piece, the chaos became competence.

Six months later, we've now crossed countries, outrun storms, learnt to anchor in terrifyingly tight reef systems, and even added a cat to our floating family.

Camille's cat, who's now living in a sailboat with her and her partner. Image: Supplied.

I've gone from living in a van on the side of the road to trimming sails, cooking barefoot in a galley kitchen the size of a wardrobe, and navigating waters I'd never even heard of two years ago.

What it's like living in a sailboat. Image: Supplied.

But the wildest part?

This was never really a story about a van, or a boat, or even the man I fell in love with.

It's a story about the moment I decided I wanted more than the life I was supposed to live. It's about choosing uncertainty over a guaranteed path. Choosing adventure over expectation.

Transitioning from van life to living in a sailboat. Image: Supplied.

Choosing freedom over the version of success, I thought I needed to prove something to the world.

The life I imagined for myself in America was safe and sensible. This life, the one I'm living now, is messy, unpredictable, thrilling, challenging, sunburnt, humid, loud, salty, chaotic, and absolutely nothing like the plan.

And yet… It feels like home.

For Camille, this is what home feels like. Image: Supplied.

Every time I stand on the deck of Stella and look out at the water, at the horizon, I used to watch from the back doors of my van. I think about the girl who whispered to herself, "One day, that'll be me."

And because sometimes, if you're lucky, life hands you an Australian who says, "Yeah, let's go for it."

Feature image: Supplied.