In ten days, I will leave the USA.

My partner and I are flying from New York to Paris. We have one-way tickets and will follow our intuition and the sun for as long as we can.

I don’t know when we’re coming “back.”

Vermont has been a beautiful home, but it was not forever.

We are going nomad.

My body will be my home. Necessity my master.

I have started down this path before but never without a definite end point in sight. There has always been a new semester of classes, or work or something demanding my return.

Now, my family and friends stretch out across the globe (I consider this extremely fortunate). Now, I have no classes calling me back. I will carry my work and my passion with me: my pen (and laptop) can travel as swiftly as me.

No–thing demands my return.

I am going nomad.

What does that mean?

It means I will travel. Wander. Vagabond.

I believe there is no better way—for me—to experience the world.

It means I will write. Tell stories. Chronicle.

Right now, this is the best way—for me—to educate others and expand their awareness and understanding of the world.

The fiery beckoning of dragons—the unknown— will chart my course. I will know my destination when I arrive.

I will know my path when I look behind me.

I am blessed to have a partner in this journey. A second home beside me.

Most people have demonstrated incredible love, support and joy when I tell them of my plans. Their eyes shine with visions of caravans in the desert and backpacks filled with stories—as do mine.

It is no matter that we know reality is far less romantic.

Sometimes they look affronted by my choice. As if I have only made it in order to disappoint, insult or shock.

So allow me to assure you: If I wanted to disappoint you, I would join a cult and disappear from the world, along with my ambitions and aspirations. If I wanted to insult you, I would throw mud at your head. And if I wanted to shock you, I would walk around naked in the sub-zero Vermont winter air.

But this isn’t about you. This choice isn’t about your lifestyle, your choices or your priorities; it is about mine.

I am not seeking approval or admiration.

I do not wish to condemn or judge; likewise, please do not condemn or judge me. I am not preaching a better way of life. After all, there is no one right way to live unless there is only one kind of person living.

So the next time a friend, a child, a loved one or a stranger tells you they are going nomad, remember that. They are answering the distinct and limitless call to adventure that beats a different rhythm in every heart.

Their decision is theirs. It is not about you.

Remember, too, that there is no right or wrong time to go nomadic.

Yes, I am choosing to do so in my twenties, but I have met couples in their forties who have left their jobs, taken their savings and run into the unknown. I have met men and women in their fifties doing the same.

Is it responsible? I think that is the wrong question to ask.

Rather, try this: “Does a misty path full of vague obstacles and uncertain challenges call to me?”

Only you know the answer.

 “I wonder where we are going,” I said.

“Wherever the way is going,” Exi replied calmly.

“But where do you suppose the way is going?”

“Wherever we go.”

“That doesn’t really make sense, does it?”

“Oh, yes. Quite good sense.”

“Why?”

“Do you know any method by which you can go one way and your path another? Not the path, but your path?”

“Well–” I hesitated. “Well, if you put it that way, I guess not. But what about crossroads? Couldn’t you choose the wrong one?”

“I suppose you could. However, if it was the wrong way you chose, it would still be your way, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” I answered, “yes, it probably would.”

~ Sheila Moon, from: Knee Deep in Thunder

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Author: Toby Israel

Editor: Ashleigh Hitchcock

Photo: courtesy of the author