A list of things I’ve learned as a nomad:

To me, wanderlust feels like the most tragic parts of love and the most joyful parts of tragedy melted into my lungs

After three months of not knowing where I am when I wake up it stops being scary and starts feeling like another part of waking up. I turn off my alarm, put on my glasses, figure out where I am, go to the bathroom and get dressed.

Libraries are a good place to be when I don’t know where to be. There are bathrooms, comfortable places to sit out of the rain, and wifi. Sometimes bathrooms are hard to find,

Rain means something very different from the inside of a warm house with a dryer than when I don’t have a place to dry my clothing. Cold is a very different creature when it’s temporary.

Random acts of kindness are just that:

The lady in the yellow car who offers you a ride in the pouring rain or the cashier who sees you rooting in your wallet and gives you a donut on the house are no more or less predictable than being catcalled in a gas station or having to cross the street to avoid the two large men in a fistfight.

Walking down the road, pepper spray clenched in hand is a shitty feeling but no worse than being on the same road minus the pepper spray.

Sex is unlikely, dangerous, and spaced in odd clumps. I get propositioned seven times in a week and then not again for seven months.

Running is necessary. It provides structure, stability, and self reliance. Also, my butt looks fantastic. I like to run with friends but running alone is the closest I’ll ever come to praying.