It’s Not So Enviable

Or is it?

I’m referring, of course, to my nomadic lifestyle and how it is perceived by people who have chosen to toe the line and work their 9 to 5 in the pursuit of the 2.5 children, white picket fence, keeping up with the Jones’ life. As often happens when I’m back in the States, or even abroad and meet people who lead what is perceived as a ‘normal’ life. I’m pretty happy to talk about how I live and the ‘oohhhs and ahhhs’ that I get encourage me to open up and probably glorify and romanticize my life’s path.

As an example, during my most recent stopover in the U.S. while traveling from Asia to South America, I met a young lady who was genuinely full of admiration and envy when I explained how I live. During the course of the conversation, she remarked that she would like to live like this, to do what I do. To me, it seems easy. To most people, it seems impossible. “How do you afford it?” “Won’t scary brown people eat your children if you leave the safety and security of the United States?” “I don’t speak the language”. All of these questions and concerns (and more) come up when, for a fleeting moment, people are caught up in the romance of world travel and living abroad and working overseas.

You Probably Can’t Have it Both Ways

I’m an American, and as such, I’m probably culturally predisposed to the never-ending pursuit of material things. I’m very detached from my food source and I take a great many things for granted such as safe drinking water and trash removal. During my youth, I grew accustomed to the American lifestyle and that lifestyle is my comfort zone. I’m reluctant to step outside of it. There’s a certain feeling of security that comes with a full-time job and being amongst people who dress the same way that I do and speak the same language that I do. This is where the divide happens. This is the basis for why more Americans don’t chose to live the way I do. I’ll certainly admit that for every bit of envy that people have for my life, I envy theirs equally. Sometimes I yearn for the stability that comes with living in a 3-bedroom ranch style house in the suburbs. A washer and dryer. 64 channels of shit on my T.V. Going from point A to point B in my vehicle on my schedule. Resolving conflicts and making deals in my native language. Being able to flush toilet paper in the toilet. So, while the young lady certainly seemed excited and was ready to buy an airplane ticket to some far-flung, exotic destination, she probably won’t, and I can certainly understand why not.

I hold a firm belief that we, as humans, are nothing if not a sum of our experiences, so all of these experiences enrich who I am, but they are EXHAUSTING! These experiences are also very humbling. For all that I think I know how to do, if, for example, I buy a chicken at the local mercado, I don’t know how to butcher a chicken. It’s not pre-packaged for me in Styrofoam and plastic wrap. I could very well starve to death, not for a lack of food, but for a lack of knowledge.

Consider this: For me, a cup of espresso means carrying a 20-Liter (5 gallon) bottle of water on my back for a half-mile. 40-minutes round-trip on an overcrowded death-trap of a bus to buy coffee. A negotiation in a language I don’t understand very well to arrive at a quantity of coffee, a price for the quantity and an acceptable grind of the beans for my purposes. Hoping that the electricity is on when I try to make the coffee, another negotiation for the removal of any waste that is generated by the making and consumption of coffee – I drink a lot of coffee, but when I consider how much time and effort is invested, perhaps I should just learn to deal with the caffeine withdrawals instead. And that’s just a cup of coffee. That doesn’t begin to address the myriad other tasks that will come up.

Whether to live a vagabonding lifestyle or to stick more to a traditional one is a choice. I feel fortunate that I know what both are like, and for now, I plan on continuing to buck tradition and collect more experiences.