Stability and Simplicity, Evolved
There we understood that our vocation, our true vocation, was to move for eternity along the roads and seas of the world. Always curious, looking into everything that came before our eyes.”
-Ernesto Guevara, The Motorcycle Diaries
Post Nomad Life Note: This is the one and only post I wrote on the road. I had grand intentions of updating my community as requested, for all the interested people who asked if I would be documenting my experiences. I had the intention, I really did. But what I’ve learned about myself and nomad life is that presence matters. Living a non-ordinary life, even temporarily, is a privilege.. a season in my life I did not wish to squander. I realized soon after this post that, by documenting for public reading along the way, I would be living through the eyes of readers, keeping you all top of mind as I wrote. I would be hesitating, censoring, pressing “delete” as my inner critic that understands click baits and crescendos nudged me in more palpable directions — betraying the very nature and spirit of living freely. I am now writing a second book on my experiences, which feels more aligned and magical. I hope to deliver it to you soon. Until then, a random and unorganized mix of old, forgotten pieces, and post-nomad new.
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I’ve always believed in the joy, and honestly, power that comes with evolving one’s life through conscious effort. This can be reinvention, recalibration, or simply deciding to hang a hard left in life.
Depending on age, gender and culture, evolving one’s life is heralded, criticized, or both, depending on who benefits. But as far as I can tell, when it’s true and right for the person, it’s magic. It attracts us. It engages us and inspires us to want to do the same.
Few people who feel the pull to evolve or reinvent themselves, even partially, take the chance to do so. Why? Because, well, life is busy and change is hard.
If you’re one of the few who desire to take that interesting turn in life and have actually done it, you know it requires learning to savagely set aside the opinions of the rest of the world. That was always my favorite part. Not because it came from irreverence (although to some it can look like that), or rebellion for the sake of rebellion, but because that type of big life change originates from such a real, pure place that any other options or opinions somehow fade into the background. They live silently, invisibly, behind your excitement and joy at the discovery you’ve made about yourself and your life. It is truth in its purest form.
It is this ability to redirect our attention back to what we know to be true and right for us that accelerates us toward the life that feels… giddily aligned? Wild? Outrageously validating? All of the above.
In 2021, I decided to move from Los Angeles to a small sailing town in Maryland. It had been a traumatic couple of years and, while it was smartest for me to stay in LA for my book release, I desperately needed to touch home base. So I traded my Hancock Park apartment for a quaint, nearly 100 year-old cottage close to my oldest friends and family. My motto for this season was “stability and simplicity”.
I rooted down like never before. I bought all new furniture, refurbished the interior and designed an epic outdoor space for all the entertaining I was sure to do. I had the home, the landscaped yard, and all the typical belongings, and in a traditional, family-oriented town where everyone knows one another, surrounded by my oldest friends and only a few hours from my family. And I had the white picket fence to boot.
Now, I sighed, life will be safe. Stable. Simple.
Less than 18 months later, I find myself in a giant, cozy California king bed in an Asheville, North Carolina airbnb. In my possession are two suitcases, some books, my laptop and my two rescue dogs, Franklin and Maya. A wire from the sale of that nearly 100 year-old cottage hit my account four days ago, and the new occupants of my safe, stable space have already set up their Ring camera.
The decision to be a digital nomad came on suddenly, but calmly — my telltale sign that it was right for me.
It was less than two months ago and I was sitting in a hotel room in Kolkata, fresh off a few exploratory days Madrid. The day I got to Spain, my realtor notified me that I received an offer on my home and that the buyers wanted to close quickly. By the time I got to India two days later, I was cross-eyed from stalking Zillow for affordable housing in Nashville, my intended next home city. I felt panicked and decided to stop the search and enjoy my trip, trusting something would come along.
As I watched Al Jazeera news in my pajamas and enjoyed a morning coffee, an email from a woman I subscribe to came across my inbox. It was the story of her dream home falling through and her subsequent decision to be a digital nomad with her husband and her 5 month-old son.
“Oooh….. I can do that.” I thought. Then, I smiled.
That smile has always meant the same thing for me: that I was about to make a very interesting, aligned move.
(Since publishing my book, Fuckless: A Guide to Wild, Unencumbered Freedom, I have welcomed the obligation of living in full integrity with living a life of wild, unencumbered freedom)
So, that was it. Decision made.
If you’re intensely aware of how you make decisions — good, bad and ugly — it’s a fun game to play. The absolute best decisions of my life — moving to California (twice), backpacking through Southeast Asia, attending graduate school, and buying my homes in South Park, San Diego and my little cottage — were not the most emotional or exciting moments, which has actually made them more memorable. It should be emotional, anxiety-provoking, insanely happy or intense when you make those kinds of decisions, right?
Not for me. At the most, I smile. Now that I think about it, it’s specific. And it’s the same feeling every time.
It’s that “yes” feeling that makes it easy to stay rooted in my decisions when people question them, don’t get it or have an endless barrage of anxious “but what if…?!” questions. And that’s fine. That’s how humans work. We speak and act from our own fears, beliefs and perspectives exponentially more often than we choose to sit in someone else’s seat.
While I’m used to reactions about some of my wilder life choices (“You’re going to India?! By yourself?!”), oddly enough, I’ve never felt more supported than I have been in my decision to embark on nomad life. Strangers, neighbors, friends, my traditional family members and the sweet Chattengooga couple I struck up conversation with at lunch today have all had the exact same reaction:
“Wow…. good for you.”
Some people take a deep breath, some stare off as if they’re imagining what it would be like, and some are just plain excited at the idea. But zero people, even the slightly confused ones, have responded with an ounce of negativity.
Of course, they follow up with lots of questions:
“Where will you get mail?” (I have a public mailbox in Austin)
“So… you won't have a home base?” (Nope!)
“How long will you do this for?” (No idea)
“What places are you hitting?” (No clue, but I have some weird ideas)
“Are you taking the dogs?” (Of course, I’d sooner cut off my left arm than abandon those fur babies)
“Are you living in a van?” (Who am I, Matt Foley? No, driving the Tesla and staying in airbnbs)
“Where will you end up?” (Nashville? Europe? The moon?)
“What made you want to be a nomad?” (I realized its not just for 20-somethings anymore, more 50-somethings are nomads than 40-somethings!)
My mantra still stands: simplicity and stability. But I look at these words completely differently today.
I thought moving to a small, traditional, simple town where life is slow and neighbors know one another would be the simplicity I needed. And I won't deny that removing the noisy externalities — traffic, tons of events and happenings, and lots of people — to calm myself internally actually did provide me with the peace and ease I needed at the time. But, for me, those externalities also gave me energy, creativity, motivation and inspiration.
Now, I define simplicity as “only what serves”. This goes for people, places, projects, and how I spend my time. I found immense, freeing, liberating joy in purging and donating most of my things. I left furniture for the buyers and donated boatloads of clothes and household items. I invited friends over to pillage my home for decor, blankets, whatever. Ask anyone who has been with me through this season and they’ll confirm, I couldn’t shut up about how good it all felt. My storage unit contains my favorite things that I can’t wait to see again, and I’m on the road with my favorite clothes, a few books, and, of course, the crazy fur kids.
Now, I’ve come to define stability as “an unwavering inner rootedness in who you are, what you are creating and who you are becoming”. I thought having traditional things, like a cottage near the water, would mean I was stable and safe after all the upheaval I’d experienced. I thought living the same, normal lives as my friends and family would mean I was “doing the right thing”. I depended on external things and people to provide for me what could only be built from the inside.
If I’m being honest, I was hiding. And I think it’s okay to hide sometimes. I caught my breath in a big way. It’s what brought me back to myself. A better version, even.
And now I have another mantra. A neighbor, who I met serendipitously and way too late, and I were sitting in my meditation space at my former home a few weeks ago. We were discussing codependency, energy, fascia release work… you know, all the normal things two girls talk about at 2pm on a Saturday. The topic turned to my (and her upcoming) digital nomad life.
I laughed at how it all unfolded and how life is never linear. How, at 40 years-old, when most people are sending their kids to soccer camp and working on their very adult lives, I’m playing choose-your-own-adventure while balancing the relaunch of my company and speaking career.
I posited, “I think I’m just out to amuse myself.” She laughed and said, “I thought you said, ‘I’m just a muse for myself.’” with a cheeky flare. We looked at each other wide-eyed and said “2023 mantra”.
Why can’t we be a muse for ourselves? Why be a muse for someone else when you can be a force for your own inspiration? And so we decided, as we both embark on our own free-spirited, aligned life this year, “I am a muse for myself” was fitting.
I occasionally find myself waiting for “the oh shit moment”. The moment where I realize I’m not going back to the home I loved and curated. The friends just around the corner, the neighbors I grew close with, my favorite brewery down the street, my bike rides and runs along the water. My lovely, quiet, safe space.
But the reality is, none of this has actually hit me yet. That’s the juice. The surprising, yet-to-be-experienced parts that come with the risk of taking this route. If I knew exactly what nomad life would bring me, I likely wouldn’t be interested.
There are things that I will love about nomad life. The absence of utility companies to deal with, bills, distractions, workers at the house, things to fix in the house, junk mail, or living in a beautiful, small town that no longer serves what I’m creating. The presence of novelty, exploring new places, the freedom of never having to be anywhere and the ability to go anywhere in the country. The ability to create my days and narrow my focus to serve my company, my creative endeavors, my dogs and my wayfaring. Not ordering BS things I don’t need from Amazon because I’m trying to use all of what I’ve packed. Significantly less buying of “stuff” in general, because space is precious. Meeting new people and staying very much in touch with friends while I’m on the road.
There will be things I dislike about nomad life. Balancing finances between expensive and more affordable places. The complexity of moving every 1-4 weeks, like packing and planning. Missing the feeling that comes with walking into your home. The tax challenge, the I-dont-have-a-real-address challenge, the I-don’t-have-most-of-my-stuff challenge, the I-dont-actually-live-here dating challenge.
And so much more that I’ll love, loathe and find mildly annoying along the way.
Stay tuned :)
In gratitude,
