The Nomad Comes Home, Locks Up, Sits Still

Simplicity. A big part of what I love about it is that I like being light on my feet, not requiring a lot of bag and baggage. I like having room to breathe, not every space packed full. I like being able to look around me and exhale, not worry.

For about ten years – from when I was about 19 to 30 – I was pretty nomadic. Not that I slept in my car or anything, but at minimum, I did generally have a duffel bag with several days’ clothes. I stayed with boyfriends and friends as often as anywhere I that I legally “lived”. And even when you took only where I legally “lived”, I had ten mailing addresses in four years. It bothered me occasionally, but mainly I enjoyed it. I traveled as much and as often as I could, and I loved being ready to go at a moment’s notice. My earlier years hadn’t had a lot of predictability in them, but this time was different: this was flux of my own making.

I think that has a lot to do with my current homebody phase. In part it’s a reaction to all that shifting and uncertainty. And in part, it’s that I’ve seen a lot of places and I know better now what matters to me.

I’ve made myself a home, and I love it with a fierceness that sometimes goes beyond reason, but it’s home, and that means more to me than I can explain sometimes. I’m not sure it will last forever, but it’s definitely what I want now.

Whichever I’ve been, nomad or homebody, I never feel comfortable if I’m all cluttered up. But the corners have ways of filling up when you’re not looking, don’t they?

The trick is to stay on alert. When the corners fill up is when you’re trying to make up for something, whether you’re filling the corners of your closet, the corners of your garage, or the corners of your gullet.

Could you sit alone in an empty, quiet room? If not, I don’t think it’s time to fill the room with people or sound or stuff. It’s time to ask why not.