A nomad I will remain for life, in love with distant and uncharted places. 

Isabelle Eberhardt, Swiss writer/explorer

I’ve always been enchanted by nomads, a people so in tune with their identity that it is focused from within rather than tied down to any particular place.

Despite my childhood fascinations, I’ve learned through these past few days that I don’t think the nomad way of life is for me. I was stupid enough to book a ticket back to California three weeks before the start of school without arranging housing. I can’t move into my dorm until September 17, so I figured I would just let the tide sweep me wherever, and it would all work out in the end. Now, I’m in the midst of rotating between the goodwill of my friends and living out of my tiny carry-on suitcase until September 1st, when I move into the hallway of a pot-reeking house down the highway.  

I’m back on campus to work on my senior honors thesis. Originally I thought that the sooner I came back to campus, the sooner I could start working. But actually, the uncertainty of not settling down keeps nagging at me, preventing me from doing any real work. Instead, I sleep until past noon, when I finally wake up and walk to the computer lab to check my email. Somehow, a few hours pass and my hosts come back home to have dinner. Then a few more hours pass, and I don’t know how I’ve managed to occupy myself for an entire day before we’re all going to bed. Finally, after being unable to sleep for a few hours, I sneak downstairs to use the computer until late at night, and the cycle repeats itself. Of course I’m very appreciative for a place to stay, and I’m more than willing to follow all of these courtesies. However, it’s just not the same as having a place of your own.

All I want is a place to call Home: a place that I can be myself, where I can follow my own schedule; a place I can return to whenever I need; a place where I can leave my stuff and not live out of a tiny carry-on suitcase; predictability; emotional stability; peace.