When love has a deadline

‘In another life, I would have really liked doing laundry and taxes with you’, said Klaudia, the Hungarian

What are the dynamics of romantic relationships for a nomad? Seizing the occasion of Valentine's Day in Brazil, I am advancing this Tuesday's edition. I invited a longtime friend, the journalist and nomad Ricardo Mioto, to discuss this important topic.

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Mateus, the author of this newsletter, complained the other day that being a nomad is difficult because you have to throw away a bunch of leftover fabric softener in each place.

We may be throwing away something else that's soft: people.

I've been a nomad for almost a year now. I had a girlfriend before this, but I entered this lifestyle single and have remained that way ever since —who would want a guy who's in a different place every month?

Of course, it can be fun. The Brazilian poet Antonio Cicero wrote about "a love in every port, like a sailor". No one on their deathbed ever said their biggest regret in life was that summer in 1974 spent drinking wine with a Greek girl named Elena.

But what about the great people you let pass by?

Klaudia, the Hungarian, asked me on the last day we met if I had watched the movie "Everything Everywhere All at Once". I said no.

Then she said something to me: "The movie has a quote that makes me think of you: 'in another life, I would have really liked doing laundry and taxes with you'".

It's hard to get involved with someone and knowing that your days are counted regressively, not progressively. It is never our third date, like it is for normal people. This is our penultimate meeting.

You start to wonder: what if this summer were followed by other seasons? What would having a more mundane life with this person be like? You begin to envy people who are slowly building a relationship instead of racing against time.

Ultimately, this is a profound philosophical discussion: how many other lives could we live? What if I threw away my return ticket and decided that in 20 years I want to be doing laundry and taxes with Rosa, the Italian, and therefore I'll stay? Is it easy to pay income tax in Italy? I suppose not. But what if you feel Rosa is worth any bureaucracy or tax rate? The questions at the border of love and taxation are complex.

Much is said about the difficulties of nomadism in terms of housing. How do you deal with the instability of not having a home with which you have an emotional and intimate connection? How bad is the anonymity of Airbnbs? But this also applies to romantic relationships. Unless you're traveling with your partner, our loves are also unstable, they don't belong to us either.

Optimists may argue that it's always possible to come back for a new visit, that it's easy to stay in touch these days, that love overpowers all, and that you just have to want it.

I disagree with that a little. The pragmatism of life prevails. People have work, family, and obligations. We're talking about relationships that last weeks. Life inevitably goes on. Passion turns into nostalgia, which turns into forgetfulness. "I'll wait for you, no matter how long it takes" is romantic in movies, but it's not good advice for real life.

A Brazilian author named Rubem Braga wrote about love goodbyes:

I believe it will be allowed to keep a slight sadness, and also a good memory; that it won't be forbidden to confess that sometimes we miss each other. There were perfect moments that passed, but they didn't get lost, and the memory of them makes our solitude feel greater, but that solitude became less unhappy.

A specific period in each place has its advantages, of course. Maybe the sex is more intense. Perhaps knowing that the other person is leaving makes us open up more, surrender more, and worry less about seeming rushed. Everything seems brighter when we have a departure date. And that's why the following days seem dark.

In my mind, one scene defines the love life of a nomad. During the farewell, the boy and girl hug, look at each other sadly, and say: "Have a good life".

Undoubtedly, life will be good, but who knows how many other ways it could have been even better?

Photo by Vladislav Babienko on Unsplash