Home? What home?
My ex-LA home
It’s not uncommon when I meet people on my travels, they ask me where I am from? Or more precisely, where is my home? Of course I say I’m from the US. Where? LA? People’s eyes get wide with that. LA is impressive to most everyone, everywhere in the world. But is it my home? Besides years of memories; I have plenty of loving friends (and plenty of wine in storage) But little else.
As I prepared for my world adventure, I sold my beautiful house in Los Feliz. I had lived there for over twenty-years. I raised my family there. I remodeled it and made it my oasis. To say I loved it is an understatement. And it paid off — the profit I made from it is partly financing my travels. LA was good to me. But it is mine no more.
So where is my home now that I’m a nomad?
If people ask and I’m in a playful mood, I shrug — “My head is my house unless it rains”, sung Captain Beefheart. I agree.
My home is wherever I land. It could be a hotel, an Airbnb or some other room. It can be comfortable. Or not. Often it is hard to know what I’m going to find. I have developed an eagle eye for Airbnb pics. Whenever I see the first picture of a flower in a vase I immediately suspect trouble. Or why isn’t there a picture of the kitchen? Most likely there is none (even though they advertise it).
You never really know until you open the door…
A few of the places I’ve stayed (I rarely take pictures of the ones I hate).
So I open the door and what do I see? It can be disorienting at best. Is it clean? Does it smell? What about a place to put my bags? Where do i hang my shirts? And where are the damn electric plugs?
Then there is the bathroom. Is there a step down? Or up? Is there a piece of metal that juts out from the shower that I could bash my toe against in the middle of the night (this has happened too many times)? Is there enough light that will allow me to see? Or do I need to dig out my trusty mini-flashlight to avoid those painful surprises? The list flutters through my head.
There is more... Is the bed like a rock (Asian style) or does it have a bit of give? How are the pillows? (Luckily, I bring my own) What about AC? While traveling in SE Asia, it is pretty much a must. And what gives with all the thick comforters covering the bed? They are ubiquitous in most every hot, humid country I’ve been to. You must turn the AC down into the 60s to be somewhat comfortable, and even then, I sweat. Is it too much to ask for a simple top sheet?
Finally I surrender and settle in. I’ll turn off the lights and try and find some sleep.
Then around 2 AM I’ll wake up. Stare at the darkness confused — where am I? Or even, what country am I in? Ahh… the joys of world travel.
I love my ultralight coffee maker
Once I do decide to wake up— be it 5 AM or 7. It can take me a minute to adjust my foggy brain and condense my thoughts. I peek out the window to check what the day looks like. Sun? Clouds? Rain? Luckily rarely snow.
Now where’s the coffee? You’d be surprised as the answer to this question can be as complicated as any. In the room Nescafe? Yuk. How about down in the lobby? Or if I’m lucky down the street will be a nice espresso bar — but it doesn’t open until 10AM. Sigh. Hopefully I can brew my own.
I won’t lie. This constant moving can be a bit depressing. To be rootless. To have given up my dream house for a life on the road. To not have a familiar place where I can go back to every night. To not have a stocked kitchen, with sharp knives and a blender. Even an oven and a stove top to prepare simple, healthy meals. A place where my friends can stop by for a quick beer or a chat. To have an address I can put down on any random form I am given — “Home address please”.
So I am, in real terms, homeless.
A carry-on and a backpack is it.
So why am I not depressed? Why haven’t I run back to LA… or New Mexico… or any city in any country? Why haven’t I given up this gypsy, nomadic, vagabond lifestyle?
I’ll tell you…
I had a home. I had the security of a job. Of neighbors down the street who I could visit. It was wonderful. It gave me what I needed — at the time. But a window opened in my life, and I jumped through it. I may be crazy, but I am very aware that I only live once. That I want to fill my life with as many experiences as I can. This is what makes me who I am.
I am stronger. Wiser. I have less fear and more gratitude. Without a doubt I am a better human being.
How long it will I stay on the road? I do not know.
I assume with time I will continue slowing down. I’ll stay in places longer. Eventually my girls will settle down and have children. I will certainly want to spend time with my grandkids. But that isn’t happening soon. I have time. And time is probably the greatest gift that God has given us.
To stay in the moment. Not dwell in my past. Or worry about my future. To be humble for what I have. What I am experiencing. This keeps me grounded. This keeps me going.
When I think of home, I look at the world that surrounds me. It has everything I need. I am missing nothing. My home is always with me.
Unless of course, it starts to rain.
