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Exploring Life & Business with Rachel Swanson of Nomadic Fire Mobile Sauna

Today we’d like to introduce you to Rachel Swanson.

Hi Rachel, please kick things off for us with an introduction to yourself and your story.
Nomadic Fire® started as my answer to burnout. After 16 years as a psychotherapist, I was worn thin from holding space for others while neglecting my own need for rest and renewal. I loved the work, but I knew I needed something more—a different way to support both myself and others in their pursuit of wellness.

That’s when I found The Sauna Club (www.mysaunaclub.com) near my hometown. From my very first session, I felt something shift. Sauna wasn’t just heat—it was grounding, restorative, and healing. I dove deep into the research and quickly learned what my body already knew: sauna reduces stress, supports mental health, improves circulation, eases sore muscles, and strengthens the immune system. More than that, it creates space—for stillness, for connection, and for coming back to yourself.

As an ultrarunner, “wild swimmer,” and nature lover, I had long dreamed of moving to the mountains once my youngest son left for college. When he did, the pieces fell into place: combine mountains, wellness, community, and sauna into something that could truly enrich people’s lives. That vision became Nomadic Fire®.

Today, I live most of the year in Colorado, where I run Nomadic Fire® and keep a therapy practice in both traditional and psychedelic-assisted therapy. To me, sauna and therapy are both ways of tending to the whole self: mind, body, and spirit.

And when I’m not in the mountains during the summers, you’ll likely find me back in Chicago, swimming in Lake Michigan or soaking up the city’s best. Wherever I am, my goal remains the same: to create spaces that restore balance, spark connection, and support wellness in all its forms.

Would you say it’s been a smooth road, and if not what are some of the biggest challenges you’ve faced along the way?
It definitely hasn’t been a smooth road — but that’s pretty true of most small, independent businesses, I think.

Nomadic Fire is a true one-woman operation. I’m building and running it while also maintaining my psychotherapy practice. My husband is only in Colorado part-time, and when he’s here, he’s a steady source of support — stepping in where he can, helping on event days, and keeping me grounded when the stress inevitably peaks. The planning, logistics, towing, and day-to-day running of the business, however, all sit with me.

And then there’s social media. I’m 48, which means I didn’t grow up fluent in it, and it shows. I’d much rather be building things in the real world — but I’ve accepted that some amount of time now has to be spent negotiating (and often arguing) with the internet.

Finding consistent locations has been one of the bigger challenges, which is why the Colorado Tap House has become such a meaningful home base. It’s a place where the sauna can show up weekly, relationships can form, and the community around it feels like it’s finally starting to build a little steam (no pun intended), thanks in large part, to how welcoming the owner and staff have been. Alongside that, I also host special events and take on private rentals, which keeps things dynamic — and occasionally a little chaotic.

Like many early-stage small businesses, it hasn’t been a money-maker yet and there’s been plenty of stress and uncertainty along the way. But there’s also been real momentum, meaningful connection, and a growing sense that this work matters — which makes the hard parts feel worth it.

As you know, we’re big fans of Nomadic Fire Mobile Sauna . For our readers who might not be as familiar what can you tell them about the brand?
Nomadic Fire is a wood-fired mobile sauna business rooted in the idea that heat, ritual, and human connection are powerful — and don’t need to be exclusive or fancy to be meaningful.

I bring a traditional Nordic-style sauna to breweries, community spaces, special events, and private rentals across the Denver metro area. People can come for weekly public sessions, curated events like Soup + Sauna or sound bath collaborations, or book the sauna privately for gatherings, celebrations, and recovery-focused experiences.

What sets Nomadic Fire apart is that it’s intentionally small, personal, and human. I’m not trying to create a luxury spa or a high-pressure wellness experience. This is about accessible, real-world restoration — a place where you can show up exactly as you are, sweat, breathe, reset, and connect with others. The sauna becomes a pause button in busy lives.

Because I’m also a psychotherapist, the brand is quietly informed by an understanding of nervous systems, stress, and what people actually need to feel better – without turning it into something clinical or woowoo – just heat, presence, and space to exhale.

Brand-wise, I’m most proud of the community that’s forming around Nomadic Fire. People come back week after week, bring friends, and begin to treat sauna as a ritual rather than a one-off experience. It’s become a place where endurance athletes recover, neighbors meet, conversations happen, and people leave feeling noticeably more settled and grounded.

At its core, sauna is a thousands-year-old tradition used across cultures for healing, connection, and resilience. What Nomadic Fire does is bring that tradition into modern life — locally, simply, and accessibly. It’s “heat on wheels, relaxation that heals.”

Risk taking is a topic that people have widely differing views on – we’d love to hear your thoughts.
I don’t think of myself as a reckless risk-taker, but I am willing to take meaningful risks when they align with my values.

I was already planning a move from Illinois to Colorado, but choosing to start Nomadic Fire at the same time — while continuing my psychotherapy practice and navigating a marriage where my husband is only in Colorado part-time — added a significant layer of complexity and risk. It meant building something new in an unfamiliar landscape, while managing real emotional, financial, and logistical uncertainty which required a lot of trust, communication, and tolerance for uncertainty.

I also have ADHD, which means I tend to move toward ideas that feel alive and exciting. Earlier in my life that could look impulsive; now it looks more like trusting my intuition and learning how to sustain what I build.

More broadly, my perspective on risk is shaped by a simple belief: we only get one life (as far as I know). The question I keep coming back to is – how do we make that one life as robust, honest, and deeply lived as possible? That doesn’t mean taking unnecessary chances, but it does mean being willing to step into discomfort, uncertainty, and growth when something feels worth building.

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