Four years without a home. Four years waking up somewhere new and unknown every morning. I've opened my eyes on Thai beaches, with waves breaking and the first rays of sunlight on my face; in the valleys of Scotland surrounded by lochs and mountains; in the Alps, on a blanket of green beneath a blazing blue sky.
A nomadic life — living without a fixed roof over my head, without a settled place I can call home; waking up with no idea where I'll end up sleeping by the end of the day. What for most people would be a nightmare, a constant source of stress, is for me pure, unadulterated freedom.
By now the financial crisis has opened a lot of eyes. People don't call me crazy anymore when I say I have no need for a place of my own, a house in my name, a mortgage to pay off for most of my working life.
In fact, I'll take the opportunity to call crazy those people who, without really knowing where they want to live or what they want to do with the rest of their lives, decide to chain themselves to a pile of bricks and sign papers with a bank. Nothing against buying a house — but there's a big difference between buying a house and taking out a mortgage.
The word "nomad" sounds attractive, but say "vagabond" or "homeless" and suddenly it's not quite so cool. I don't like labels, and no single word defines me — but descriptively, either of those hits the nail on the head. I live an itinerant life, with no fixed address.
I have no house, no home, no bricks — but I'm never short of somewhere to sleep. I'm happy. I feel free not knowing where I'll spend the next night, open to whatever comes my way on my path, my adventure, my life. Because my life is a journey, and my journey demands freedom.
I started travelling after leaving my job and my girlfriend — after leaving what had been my rented home. For the first time, I had absolutely no commitments, and that's what allowed me to turn a one-week trip into a life on the road. That was almost four years ago now, and that absence of ties was what let me open my eyes, wake up, discover that there's a whole world out there and that I'm free to live however makes me happy.
I open my eyes this morning and pause for a few seconds: where am I waking up today? The past month flashes through my mind as I try to locate myself like a human GPS: France, the Alps, Italy, more Alps, Slovenia… Ljubljana, the Soča river, the forest I found following its course… Ah! Yes! That's where I pitched the tent last night.
Today I've just opened my eyes in Slovenia. But where will I close them?