It’s funny. I haven’t posted much of late because my day-to-day life doesn’t seem relevant for a blog titled ‘Serial Nomad.’ Yet, as I sit here once again contemplating where I want to live, what job I want to do, and what future path I should take, I realize that even though I’m not hiking the PCT or some other great trail, I’ve ultimately been nomadic, having moved houses eight times over the past two years.
I have always struggled with long-term commitments, whether it be jobs, relationships, or where I’m living. Two years seems to be my sweet spot. Anything under leaves me with a feeling of unfinished business, and the thought of anything beyond gives me the sense of a tight stranglehold around my jugular.
I guess my commitment phobia comes from wanting to stay open to all possible options. But in the process, some really great opportunities may have passed me by. My fear of commitment has steered me away from romantic relationships, children, real-estate, stable jobs, community, and likely many other important life things.
The flip side has been a lifestyle full of freedom, adventure, and little responsibility. But as I get older, this type of lifestyle becomes less fulfilling. I’ve been floating lately, lacking a definite purpose and direction, and I’m now craving stability and balance because I’ve had so little of both.
The fact I’m debating where to live and what to do for work (again) is so ‘normal’ to anyone who knows me it doesn’t seem like a big deal. But because I’m now forty, an age where every life decision seems magnified and more significant, the stakes appear much higher.
A friend and old teacher of mine just sent me an article about commitment which says most of us align the idea with obligation and restriction. That certainly rings true for me. But I loved reading about how necessary commitment is to our relationships, careers, where we live, and even our creativity.
I miss the absolute clarity and commitment I had when I chose to hike the PCT. Granted, my life was a bit of a shambles, and it was more a desperate decision than anything else. But I love how absolute I was about taking on that journey and how nothing was going to stand in my way.
I also miss how dedicated I was to writing my memoir about the trail. For five years, nothing was more important than sitting down, pouring my heart onto the page, and getting my story into the world. When the wheels came off that project, everything else began to unravel too.
My brain isn’t very good at recognizing the grey between black and white. I’ve always had a rather all-or-nothing mentality when it comes to decision-making. I think it’s because my brain is lazy, grey is complicated, and I’m far more used to living on both ends of the extreme.
Regarding my current situation, my brain tells me I have two options:
- Either embrace the nomadic lifestyle by storing my belongings and moving to Spain, Portugal, the Yukon, Japan, South America, or any other place on my list. OR…
- Move closer to my friends in Vancouver, find a steady job, build community, and reap the benefits of commitment and stability.
Perhaps there is a middle ground between the two. Or possibly moving back to the city and getting a stable job won’t feel as much of a life sentence as I fear.
Either way, I’m glad this predicament encouraged me to write again. Change is in the air, and perhaps it’s time to face my commitment demon head-on.