Reflections on Nomadism
More and more people are embracing a nomadic lifestyle. As for me, It has been 5 years on the road. Here are some personal reflections on the subject.
It has been five years, since 2019, that I have been "on the road." By that, I mean I navigate from port to port without a fixed destination or any particular attachment to a specific place.
To say that it is easy would be untrue, but without a doubt, it has been beneficial to me. In this increasingly common way of life, I believe there is a return to the origins of our species, living as humanity once did, in tune with the forces of nature, and yes - driven by a call to greener, more welcoming pastures to establish life.
I have been wondering about this for some time now : this way of life seems to take on new heights when my existence is about to shift towards a completely new creation that I cannot foresee in advance. The exodus becomes a form of ritual initiation, where the loss of reference points is total, and the senses cannot cling to anything familiar. It is a self-induced trance, like the whirling dervishes who hypnotize themselves in dance to surrender completely to divine ecstasy.
And yet I cannot say that this detaches me further from myself; on the contrary, I feel a subtle closeness to the essence that is buried beneath remaining social and generational conditioning. These would hold me back completely if I did not resort to these subterfuges to transcend myself and surpass the small self that is dying.
It should be noted that this ritual raises many questions each time, and it is difficult to remain neutral when one's world opens up to infinite possibilities. I know the challenges of flirting with the unknown and being unstable in it for what seems like forever. Is there a destination for those who always leave without an avowed or specific purpose?
I can always post-rationalise and find a form of logic in the act, but it is rarely premeditated, nor does it inspire full confidence from the beginning. Yet I have come to trust the call.
My limits have been tested in numerous ways through this process. It has come to the point where I have usually no visibility on where I will be staying the next night, until the sun is about to set. The anticipation of not knowing where the rest of the day is leading me awakens in me usually around mid afternoon. A form of primal alertness. Often, it leads to a frantic search for shelter, sacrificing potential treasures that could have been found if I had ignored the worry of defining the next step just a little longer, and trusted the process.
I think I understand the fear that the nomadic peoples must have felt as the cold seasons approached or as night fell. Would they have enough provisions to survive? Would they be caught by famine? Would they have access to enough warmth and cover? Or would the cold reach into their hearts?
I am rarely if ever in such desperate conditions, of course. To date, I have never found myself without shelter for the night, although I did come very close on at least two occasions. But the fear always lurks and must be faced, even when it is not rational. Amidst the turmoil of the senses, the imminent threat of extinction (again - nothing rational here), finding the right path becomes a practice of mastery. I have made rushed decisions in moments of panic, simply because my nervous system could no longer tolerate waiting and needed immediate reassurance about our future condition. Will we be safe tonight, yes or no?
I mostly eat once a day, which relieves me of the uncertainty of not knowing if I will have food in the evening. Again, this may seem trivial in the society we live in, but it can become a real concern when all the stable structures that others rely on seem to be all up for reconsideration for you in that moment.
Again, think initation… A vision quest of sort.
Obviously, I could completely change my way of life, settle somewhere. I am actively considering it. It is not just a desire to stop wandering or to have something that is truly mine, although I see no harm in that.
It is more about anchoring something solid and leaving a fertile foundation on which others can rely. When one is constantly on the move, one does not build anything tangible, at least nothing that can be seen growing. At this stage of my life, maybe I need to feel that I am contributing to something. That my footprint on this earth will not be fleeting or invisible. But isn't that a form of egotism? How does it truly help the earth if I plant sturdy stakes and pour cement on its tender surface?
So yes, I could build on what already exists, simply take up the good work of others and add my touch to it. This is the origin of most of our churches afterall, which used the foundations of previous altars and places of cult, mostly pagan, to house their new esoteric performances.
Will I also be a builder of cathedrals, made to resist the test of time? Do we need more stones stacked on top of each other, or should we instead return to the path of the steppes and the vast plains and fully accept being carried wherever the gentle winds blow? Doesn't impermanence, being the nature of existence, indicate that we are destined for permanent exile one way or another, and that the only form of residency that can ever last is to be built within ourselves, a structure sheltered from doubt and external factors, that can shake even the most solid of fortresses?
This might come in handy when the future climatic conditions and political context set in motion their own form of exodus, whether by choice or by force.
I am finding the right balance between permanent movement, which can be a form of escape, and sensitive navigation—a transit from one place of living to another as necessity calls, an exploration of living things that move and change, just like ourselves. To be in tune with what demands my full presence in this now, to go or to stay, with both uncompromising determination and infinite compassion. Because yes, I am ever-changing, and yes, constant at the same time.
As I write these lines, I have not completely managed to push away the impatience that awaits me at the end of these lines, the moment when once again I will find myself facing the choice of not having a predetermined place to welcome me tonight. And yet, there is grace in that as well.
Because all surprises are still possible if I bravely accept to wait for the sign that will say, "Here, this is where your road leads you, for tonight." And to rest my weary body, with the feeling, for at least this day, of having reached the end of the mystery; of having honored the process that is not always evident, quite the contrary, that is fraught with doubts and obstacles, but which ultimately always brings me back to the one point that truly matters, within myself. Right where I belong, where nothing and no one can decide my departure except myself.
Safe travels, traveler. May your journey be good and abundant, and may the signs that guide you not escape your vigilance, for surely you are journeying towards a port that already rejoices in your presence. Cultivate the patience required for this encounter to unfold.
I bid you farewell, perhaps here or elsewhere.
With my love,
Léa