De-nomadize
If I hadn't become a nomad, my life would be different. If I were still a nomad, my life would be different. Life only happens one way
The million-dollar question for anyone starting a nomadic life is: how long will it last? There isn't a single nomad on this Substack who hasn't written about it.
By the end of 2022, when I decided to quit my full-time job, end a long-term relationship, and move out of my apartment to live from Airbnb to Airbnb, I already knew this question would follow me constantly.
"Becoming a nomad" is putting a label on it, stigmatizing a lifestyle. It can happen for a thousand reasons. In my case, it was driven by a crazy desire to escape the post-pandemic routine that was boring me despite having everything I'd ever wanted —I worked at the newspaper I read when I was a teenager, had a fun girlfriend, and lived in a cool apartment.
Then, you find yourself in this wild spiral of living a lifestyle entirely outside society's norms. Not having a permanent address shocks people. Parents don't get it. Uncles don't even know what Airbnb is. People you meet along the way give you a wide-eyed look that seems like a meme.
No one knows how long a nomadic life will last. You embark on a journey that could last months, years, or even more than a decade. Your professional, emotional, romantic, family-related, psychological, or financial circumstances will dictate the timeline.
It's important to recognize when you're starting to "de-nomadize" and to understand that everything has its phase, including endless travel. As a friend of mine once said:
We have to enjoy things while they last and then be happy when they change. Traveling for a few years and then stopping isn't necessarily bad, as long as you were aware that you were happy during those years.
I'm living this process of de-nomadizing. I've been living with my girlfriend in São Paulo for two months now, with no set date for my next big trip. Small trips will always happen—that's been a constant in my life, and it always will be. It doesn’t matter how much money I have to spend on travel, I'll pay for it. There's no more valuable investment than memories. What changes is the duration of the trips, and that is okay.
I recently gave a really interesting interview to Caterina from Freedom Focus about de-nomadization. I highly recommend reading it. (It's funny how, during an interview, you sometimes express yourself better than when you're obligated to write for your own newsletter. Deadlines kill creativity.)
One of the most important things I said was:
I really believe that there are no ex-nomads. Maybe there aren't even nomads. Just people with different desires and needs at certain times in life.
In this process of de-nomadizing, I don't think of myself as leaving behind being a nomad. Just like when I became a nomad, I didn't feel all that different from a "regular person". I lived in an apartment (even if temporary—but who rents doesn't live permanently either; it's just a longer timeframe), I worked Monday to Friday, 10 am to 6 pm, I had bills to pay, I worried about my parents, I went through relationship dilemmas, I hung out at bars with old or new friends.
Nomad or not, I've certainly had an absolutely unique experience. People living in extreme poverty or billionaires have permanent addresses. Not having one by choice is a huge privilege. Nomads are like atheists: a minority. A home, like religion, brings comfort and security.
In the interview, I also discussed the romanticization of the nomadic lifestyle. Instagram exaggerates the glamour, but it's far from the truth. Almost no one shows the deep psychological damage that nomadic loneliness can cause, no matter how many friends or lovers you meet on the road.
You make a choice between a lifestyle that will bring you the most fascinating stories of your life, take you to cities, countries, and people you'd never otherwise meet, and a constant uncertainty about the basic pillars of your life involving career, family, and community.
In the end, we're always on the thin line between choices. When I was a kid and understood the power of choice, I used to play a little game with myself. I'd hold out my right hand and my left hand parallel to each other. Then, I'd choose one hand to open. And I'd think: "My destiny just changed now. If I'd opened the other hand, my life would be different."
If I hadn't become a nomad, my life would be different. If I were still a nomad, my life would be different. Life only happens one way.
De-nomadizing or not, this newsletter will always be called No Direction Home. In the end, life doesn't really have a direction.
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I'll continue reading. Keep on the great ride :)