On Being a Nomad

Note: Started roughly two weeks ago. Finished somewhere around three minutes ago. 


The conversation lasted probably about two minutes. Like most interactions between people who haven't seen one another for quite some time the order of salutations went like this:

We walked towards one another. We gave a hug mixed with a pat on the back, then proceeded with general questions like,"What's new with you?" or "How is your family doing?"

The person greeting me was the father of one of my best friends and it had been more than half a year since seeing him, not since before leaving to teach English in Spain. I was visiting him and looking to see the rest of his family because during this brief moment in time I had returned home for a few weeks to see friends and my parents.

"How is Spain?" 

"It's going really well so far."

Had I been meeting some interesting people? Yes. Was he, along with my best friend, and the rest of their family doing well. Thankfully yes as well. Were we both happy to see one another? Most definitely.

"What are you going to do when you come back?"

"Well...I guess I haven't thought about that part yet." 

Maybe the mood shifted or it was a token of imagination.

With a silently serious look on his face, "I'm glad your getting this out of your system." I didn't quite register everything. "You know, so you can eventually get a real job, and start making some real money. Eventually you have to start being responsible." 

As I stood in front of my friend's father I didn't really know how to respond. Due to my lack of proper words he continued about how my best friend was moving up in his job and my friend's sister was working towards a promotion in the company she worked for. The person who was looking at me had also worked really hard in his life and now had a nice house, been running a successful business for many years, and had a beautiful family.

As we made conversation I took mental note that most of the money I had to my name had been spent on flying home and the current pair of dusty walking shoes I had on also doubled as those used for running. Trying to focus my attention on anything other than my lack of self accomplishment it became increasingly heavy standing next to this man without feeling like I wasn't doing anything useful with my life.

Should I be out in the working world trying to make lots of money? Was this current life choice of exploring different places, meeting odd cultures, and trying to learn about other people's way of life something that was simply in my system? Is teaching English not a responsible thing?

Looking blankly at this man whom I hold a great deal of respect, the only real answer that made sense is to agree with him.

"Yeah, your probably right. It's something I'm probably going to look into pretty soon."

I was hoping to catch my close friend at home but it looks like he was away and the only thing caught was a piece of unexpected self-deprivation. Shaking hands with his dad we parted ways. Him shutting the front door of his house and me taking stride down the street back to where my parents' home was located.

As I found myself strolling downwards around a gradually winding street, many questions started knocking at the door of my consciousness.

Should I start making some real money? Do I want to work towards buying a house, saving towards retirement, planning for a family?Do I need to start being successful?

The sun had been shining and somewhere a bird or two was probably chirping. Due to the gradual decline of the street's asphalt passageway I was forced to keep my attention focused on its cement foundation in order to not suddenly trip forward.

My eyes were looking downward in order to keep me upright. The path began to flatten towards normalcy. Despite the change in terrain a gaze continued it's focus along the black tar that smoothly tucked itself below each step because inside there existed a feeling that I had already fallen.

The street was now fully flat. Taking a quick breath to scan the immediate surroundings of the tree covered neighborhood I felt like the dumbest person on the block. Nice houses. Nicer looking cars. People who were making money.

Living day to day. Moment for moment. Experience for experience. All of a sudden this personal manifesto that I had invisibly tattooed along my heart years ago seemed like a waste of time and energy.

Should I start looking for a REAL job? Was a nice house like these on both sides of me something I should be working towards?

Looking down I saw that one of the shoelaces of the increasingly warn out pair of sneakers was close to needing a retie. The seams along the sides were starting to tear. It was getting to be almost that time to regretfully pay for a new pair of wandering foot companions.

Before continuing along the solidly molded passageway towards home I remembered why they got so dirty; because I decided to make them that way. I wanted to take them to Morocco to share some cus cus. They were itching to go hiking near Cartagena, Spain. We went half ways on a day trip through Toledo. They wanted to feel on their souls the beauty of the Love Lock bridge in Paris. They wanted to go to sleep in one hemisphere then wake up groggily in a new one. They wanted to get lost and find a way to communicate in a foreign language for help. They wanted to make friends in places that used to be just dots on a map.

I looked up. It was time to keep going. The shoes on my feet didn't look dirty enough.

Maybe I'll get a real job one day. Maybe one of the nice houses passing me on both sides will become mine eventually.

Or possibly I'm going to move to South America or find a gig somewhere in Asia, live off of very little money, and love every second of it.

Walking down the street towards my parent's house I could literally feel the very little loose change I had in my pocket hopping about.

Taking one last look up the hill towards my friend's families' house, I knew I was the smartest person on the block.