Nomad Living: There's No Wrong Way to Be One

When people picture nomad life, they usually imagine hiking boots, mountain trails, kayaks, bicycles, and dramatic photos standing on the edge of cliffs at sunrise.

And while I admire people who live that way, that has never really been my version of the road.

My favorite part of being a nomad is much simpler than that:

I love when my car is moving.

Not rushing. Not escaping. Just moving through the world.

I could spend an entire day driving through changing landscapes and feel completely fulfilled by it. Desert. Mountains. Farmland. Tiny forgotten towns. Long empty highways. The slow transition from one ecosystem into another. I don’t need to stop and conquer a trail to feel like I experienced a place. Sometimes seeing it through my windshield is enough.

More than enough, honestly.

There’s something deeply peaceful about witnessing the country unfold mile by mile. The road becomes its own kind of meditation. I notice cloud formations. Rock colors. Windmills. The shape of distant mountains. Abandoned buildings. Strange little gas stations in the middle of nowhere. I feel connected to all of it simply by passing through.

And the truth is, physically, I can’t always do what many other nomads do. I have a disease that causes me to be in pain if I move around too much.

Last spring at Arches National Park, I tried walking out to some of the arches. I wanted the experience everyone talks about. But I got so winded and hurt so badly that I barely made it to one arch, and I couldn’t finish the rest of the walk.

For a moment, I felt disappointed in myself.

Then later, driving through the park, watching those massive red stone formations rise against the sky through my windows, I realized something important:

I was already experiencing it in the way that felt most meaningful to me.

The movement itself is what feeds me.

Some people need to climb every peak. Some people need long hikes and adrenaline and outdoor challenges. Some people build elaborate campsites and stay in one beautiful place for weeks.

And some of us are simply travelers at heart.

I think there’s a quiet pressure in nomad culture sometimes to perform adventure a certain way. To always be “doing” something extraordinary outdoors. But the road doesn’t demand that from us. The road meets each of us differently.

My driver’s seat is more than a seat. It’s my office chair. My reading nook. My crafting spot. My journaling corner. Sometimes it’s my dining room. Sometimes it’s my thinking place. A huge portion of my life happens right there behind the steering wheel, watching the world pass by.

And I love that life.

I don’t think there’s a wrong way to be a nomad, as long as you can be a good steward of the land you're traveling (and stopping) on, and the people and animals around you.

There’s only the version that makes you feel alive.

For me, joy looks like open highway, changing scenery, a good playlist, and another horizon appearing in the distance.