Perhaps most concerning is that being on floating America for just one day, after being in a shadowland of home with one son, has already messed with my own practice of self.  I don’t know what to call that, but it’s just that the me I left behind in the U.S. and spent over a year growing and changing through both exposure and intention, begins to creep into my natural feelings, relations and thoughts.  The old me is trying to come back—It feels the pressure of expectations and judgement that await, and always the sense of failure to live up to family and cultural expectations of perfection. Rational me rejects that but emotional me feels the anxiety—the angel and devil I always lived with in the U.S. but have been free of these past 15 months.

I love to see the city lights, especially from a high-rise, when the fascinating grit of the day is covered in darkness and neon that lights the city like a fairyland, even as you can imagine what goes on behind all of those windows, the good and beautiful, the bad and ugly, the myriad of human experience played out just feet away from someone else’s completely different life.

When you slow down to rest, it can be dangerous. The storm winds in my mind began to blow—and they blew the top right off of Pandora’s box.

(Because I wanted to know, before becoming nomads…so I promised this blog would always expose the honest emotions of our nomad life.)

As we sat in the hotel bar tonight discussing our transition tomorrow from Bangkok, Thailand, to Siem Reap, Cambodia, we noted that travel days have become a routine of our life instead of a stressor or huge event. It’s so much easier when you literally just have to pack everything….We approach travel days as we do daily days—like the flaky, makeup-free, scruffy hair, showered yesterday traveling nomads we’ve become.

Last week was rough, I’m not going to lie.

Lying in bed with chills as Tim doubled-up the comforter over me, my greatest fear was Dengue Fever. It’s a very real risk in Bali, and in SE Asia, where we are living for 7 months.

More than once I went down the path of “What the hell are we doing? Why are we here in Bali? Why aren’t we with our family? What makes us think we have what it takes to live as nomads? Is this really what we are meant to be doing? Will it be okay? What if [this, or that] happens? What if [a,b,c,d,e,f,g,….] happens? What if we die? What if Tim dies and I’m alone? Or vice versa? Yes, I cried in his arms begging him not to die…I’m telling you the full, sorry truth. I. FELT. VULNERABLE.

The other (more sane?) part of my mind was saying…

A Guest Post from Tim Hudson, my hubby: His Thoughts on the Role of the Breadwinner Six Months Into This Nomad Retirement. How is he adjusting to no longer earning income and having a professional identity?

Now that we’re retired and travel full-time, we are almost always together 24/7. Are we bored with each other? Are we annoyed with or sick of each other? Do we have nothing to talk about?

How to win the mental game of maximum happiness by not looking too closely.

Leaving all my social structures and roles behind to begin a nomad life has left me searching for who I am now. It’s like going off to college where no one knows you and you have no accountability. The devil and angel on my shoulders do battle…who will win? Who am I now?

Security items like a car, cell phone plans, our favorite coffee cups and “just in case medicines” have now been left behind on our nomad journey. What does it feel like to loose these “boosters”?

What it feels like to actually finish all the to-do lists you’ve procrastinated on and have truly FREE time.

Good Morning from our VRBO near Spokane, WA! It’s 7 am and Tim’s heading down the path to the river to fish. Yesterday he caught 10! He’s adjusting well to retirement and hasn’t missed work at all! He’s enjoying learning video editing and how to YouTube and should have a second episode (improved to horizontal) out soon.

Yep, housework. And grocery shopping. Because this is life, people, not the extended vacation some of you expected. We knew it. We wanted it. Because vacations are expensive. But instead of running our daily life in the U.S., we’ll be living it here and there in beautiful, (much cheaper!) international destinations where our daily walks and the view from our window is much more interesting, the food and wine are new to us, and our minds and bodies are challenged and stretched every day just trying to run errands, do laundry and get around in a different culture and language. Just living has never been more exciting.

I woke up eager to explore a trail I could see from our hotel room and took off with little information. I’m a pretty wimpy walker so was a little concerned when the trail quickly became steep and uneven, then continued down further and further with every turn. I was beginning to feel anxiety about the return trip when suddenly…

My name is Kathi and I am a hotel snob. I was. I have repented and changed my habit.

How did I become so ignorant, you ask? Long summer road trips across the U.S. in the family RV involved stopping at a Motel 6 or Super 8 about every week to let my mom have “a decent shower” and “a comfortable bed.” Were they though? I guess I thought of them as the bare minimum, only slightly above a crowded trailer.

As a Marriott cocktail waitress during college in Newport Beach, CA, my employee discount (paying about $30/night in the late 80’s) upped my boujie creds on a cross-country road trip with my then-boyfriend. The nights where no Marriott was available? Well, those literally roach-infested “affordable” (he said) motels strengthened my vows of motel abstinence.

The top of our trusty convertible down, our hair blowing in the breeze as we taste the sea air and smell the Redwoods…the movie-like West Coast road trip fantasy from Northern California to Washington that we are finally ready to drive after a lifetime in Southern California.

Two months before the launch of our full-time nomad life, a window got stuck. Fast forward through multiple weeks at our auto shop and the dealership, multiple motors and computer modules replaced, it was now the day before our launch, the day before we left home forever, and the mechanic believed a different module was needed that would take 3 days to deliver. It had also caused the seats and mirrors to freeze in place and various warnings to light up. Did I mention the roof no longer converted?

Eager to at least partially preserve the fantasy dream trip, we scheduled repair at a dealership in Washington a week away and determined to drive without the ability to put the top down. This never happened in those movies!

We leave soon. We’ll leave our former home, even our state, with just our luggage, off to live here and there as world nomads. Is it scary?

Like waiting for a rollercoaster, it’s terrified excitement.

You might be wondering what we are thinking as we head into the great unknown of our nomad adventure.

Here’s a list I made to share with you.

See that big empty space on the wall? A few years ago, Tim built a beautiful bar for me….

As we wrapped the bar cabinet in plastic and sent it away on a truck this morning, my heart got that sinking feeling of loss. Everything else we own will be leaving soon as well….

We want this change of lifestyle and usually feel giddy with excitement. But the closer we get to our “launch” date, the more items we let go of, the more real the aspect of loss wedges its way into my psyche and my heart. This isn’t just that “in between” feeling of moving—because we’re not landing anywhere. We’re leaving our stuff, our family, our country—in a lot of ways we are leaving security and everything “known.” Can we do it?