From New Orleans to Nomadic: One Year Later
Celebrating one year of nomadic living by sharing some reflections with you.
It’s been a while since I last landed in your inbox. One of the joys of working for myself is the freedom from obligations like a regular newsletter. I’m committed to reaching out only when I feel genuinely called to, so I’m excited to be here now. Thanks for meeting me.
As June draws to a close and I approach the one-year mark since leaving New Orleans on July 1st to embark on my nomadic journey, I find myself reflecting. Well, let’s be honest, I’m always reflecting. But just as birthdays provoke a special kind of pause to look backward (and forward,) this one-year milestone has done the same for me now.
The year has been a whirlwind of exploration, growth, and profound connections—with myself and others. I've peeled back layers of myself and met shadows and depths I didn’t know existed, and some I very much did. (Not an easy or glamorous endeavor, but one greatly aided by the support and guidance of my long-time teacher.) The beauty of this earth has moved me to tears more times than I can count. I’m slowly letting go of everything I once thought I knew and understood to be true, like the need for a plan, or that my worthiness is somehow tied to how I look, or that toilet paper is a nonnegotiable household item. (Don’t worry; more on the toilet paper coming up.) I watch with awe as the more I let go of, the more room is made for experiences and realities I couldn’t have made up in my wildest dreams. In real-time, I’m watching my external world dramatically reflect back to me the work I’m doing internally. New clients appear out of nowhere, free accommodations materialize, breathtaking landscapes unfold before me, and deep connections form with old and newfound friends who seem to appear just when I need them most.
I wouldn’t change a single moment of this journey. Yet, amidst the beauty, there have been challenges—some expected, many not. Here are some reflections from a year of nomadic living:
Impermanence and Letting Go of Attachments
The only constant is change. I used to start team meetings in New Orleans with these words, but gosh, they have taken on even deeper meaning now. Living nomadically means constant reconfiguration of where to sleep, how to feed myself, where to do coaching calls from, where to put my belongings, and how to get to the next location. As soon as I settle in one place, I’m anticipating the next move. Every camping spot, friend’s guest room, house-sitting gig, and Airbnb is temporary. This might sound convenient when circumstances are less than ideal, but letting go when things are wonderful can be challenging. After one specific stay in Mountain View, CA, left me immersed in healing energy and pure joy, it took weeks and a pretty intense period of not feeling like myself to recover. I later realized that this was grief in its own odd way. As much as this year has been filled with the expansion of newness, it’s been filled with the sharp feeling of letting something you love go again and again. Isn’t that what this life is, though? I started this journey by letting go of many of my belongings and my home and community of twelve years. Little did I know it would be a perpetual crash course in finding ways to experience the fullness of every circumstance without getting attached. Every view and every feeling- all fleeting. I’ll let whoever wrote this plaque in Joshua Tree National Park say it better than I can. In front of an impressive and precarious-looking rock formation, the plaque read,
THE ARCH- Geological processes have created this beautiful arch over time. But we must realize that in a geological framework, its existence is only for a moment, and it is not a final product. Erosion or wearing away will continue. Water will dissolve minerals on the surface and will seep into tiny cracks, causing them to expand and contract with temperature extremes. Bits and pieces of the rock will fall away, exposing new pieces to the elements. Wind will help wear it away, as will other agents in this environment. Then, one day, this arch will tumble, only to be replaced with other unique shapes and forms.
Is the geological framework so different from the human one?
Presence and Attention
You might already be thinking that this life sounds exhausting. In some ways, it is. Traveling without a personal home base requires a constant state of “being on” because every place is new. This means your brain is always working in big and small ways to maintain attention on things you might not be used to giving your attention to. This forces a level of presence in every action. There’s no autopilot when every grocery shop is in a new store with a new layout. Or when every drive from A to B requires directions and navigating unfamiliar roads. Recently, after a few weeks in Pacific Grove, CA, starting to know my way around brought a sense of relief, allowing a small part of my brain to take a well-deserved break. I hadn’t realized how tired my brain really was, and I suddenly started to appreciate the level of attention and presence required for this journey. Sometimes, I miss the comfort and familiarity of knowing where the milk is, and sometimes, my brain is tired, but I also know I’ve been exercising a valuable muscle. In every new moment, I find myself more and more able to be present, taking in my new friend’s words over taco salads after strength training class or really hearing the barking seals against the backdrop of crashing waves on the Pacific coastline. Colors look brighter, food tastes better, music sounds clearer, details on plants seem to jump out at me… It’s not all the time, but in these moments, I feel like I’m really experiencing what it means to be a human on earth.
Side note- this is an especially important muscle for coaches. Presence is how I tune into the energetic subtitles of my clients on every call. I am often amazed at how much detail I remember from client calls compared to some details in my own life that easily fall away. I’ve realized that memory storage becomes close to effortless when you are completely present. Next time you’re in a conversation you really want to remember, at work or with a loved one, make a decision to be fully present and watch how much you remember later on.
Unity and Interconnectedness
What is there to be present for in this human experience if not connection with others– one of the most delicious experiences of my life so far. At one point in high school, I had a best friend who I would start AIM messaging as soon as I got home until I went to bed, with a short interlude to run downstairs and shovel dinner into my mouth as fast as possible. I didn’t want to be “alone” for a minute. It’s funny because the older I get, the more I savor and prioritize my solitude. I spend more time alone now than ever in my life, and I love it more than ever, too. But there’s a part of me that was alive in high school that’s still alive now. I love people. And man, I had it good when I lived in New Orleans! Many of my closest friends were just blocks away for years on end. Those were the good old days. But I’m realizing these are, too.
This year, I’ve had the opportunity to be a lot more intentional about seeking out community all over the country, which has allowed me to reconnect with old friends in new ways and add exciting new friends to my growing community. Our privilege can reveal itself in many ways, and I’ve never been quite so aware of my privilege when it comes to community until now. Family, friends, friends of friends, and acquaintances from New York, New Orleans, past traveling, the yoga community, previous jobs, coaching, improv class… I continue to be humbled by people’s generosity with their recommendations, time, meals, and even sometimes their homes.
This morning, I had a vision of a future home I wish to own. The single and only part I could see clearly was a small guest house in the back with a bedroom and bathroom, outfitted with plenty of soft fabrics and everything a person could need to feel safe, comfortable, and at home. When the time comes, I can’t wait to open my doors again to family, friends, friends of friends, acquaintances, travelers, and wanderers alike.
Giving and Receiving
The only natural place to go from here is what a challenge I have had this year learning to receive. I’m not going to beat around the bush here. My apartment in New Orleans rocked. At least, I thought so! And I loved having visitors, hosting dinner parties, and being a place where people could come flop down on my coach. This year has flipped the script, and in the beginning, that was especially hard for me. I was anxious about not being wanted, being in the way, overstaying my welcome, imposing on others, and what it would mean about me if I let myself depend on someone else for even a short while. I would let these anxieties and incessant inner voice get in the way of allowing me to enjoy where I was and the hospitality I was being shown.
I learned a couple of things about this topic this year. Allow me to write you a list.
I learned that…
I can actually listen when people tell me their truth and trust them instead of sticking to my ego’s worst-case-scenario stories in my head.
People actually love to give.
If I can let go of my desire to be perceived a certain way (and not a certain way), I can allow myself to receive.
How do you let go of that desire? By allowing it to be there. And by sitting in the uncomfortable truth of it (the part that’s not so glamorous.) By saying yes to it all.
Try it! So I’m scared that XX thing is true about me. What happens if I say yes to that? Okay what if, maybe just maybe, it’s a little true? Can I let that be? Can I feel what that feels like? Can I love myself there? (If this sounds fun or interesting, I am always accepting new clients. 🙂 )
I’m worthy of receiving. (So are you.)
That worthiness comes from literally just existing.
I can show genuine gratitude in all kinds of ways, leaving heartfelt notes and small gifts trailing the country after me.
My presence is a gift! (That’s a hard one to write, even still. I can hear my ego saying, “How cocky of you!” but the truth is, presence is a gift.) Yours, mine. And dare I say, the most valuable one we have to give?
It turns out that giving and receiving are exceptionally sweet parts of this human experience that are innate to our being, and they can be such joy if we get out of our own way. Many of you reading this may be some of those very people who extended your hands or homes over the last twelve months. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Self-Reliance and Inner Resourcefulness
Receiving from others is not the only type of receiving I’ve been practicing. During a solo cross-country road trip, I quickly realized that I was the packer, the navigator, the driver, and the maker of every decision. I got myself into (and out of) some pretty risky situations. Think “sleeping” in my car (a metal box) on the top of a Wyoming mountain in a torrential rain and lightning storm as my only option because even with all-wheel drive, there is a limit to the physics of moving a vehicle through multiple feet of slippery mud at a 45-degree angle. I learned that I am exceptionally calm in chaos, it’s best to find a campsite before dark, and that not all strangers are kind. Shoutout to the app iOverlander– if you ever do something like this, it’s amazing. I figured out that with a little creativity, I could take care of my health while being on the move. Another shoutout, this time to canned fish and ClassPass. I learned I can do hard things, even if I’m scared. And that fear is, in fact, an essential part of the equation. I learned that even when no family or friends are close by and time zones make phone calls difficult, I can be there for myself. This might be my favorite lesson of all.
One of the ways we can build self-confidence is by doing hard things– we prove to ourselves through our actions that we can actually do stuff. You might resonate with this if you’ve ever built a muscular body (mine is still a work in progress 😅). You can’t buy or cheat your way to a strong body. It has to be earned and built over time. Navigating the uncertainties of countless unfamiliar places, tasks, people, and situations of nomadic life has felt like this. The self-reliance I’ve built from this feels like going to the gym. I had to show up and earn it.
When we show up and do a thing, we have something to be proud of. But even after doing the thing, it’s not always easy to remember to feel proud (or comfortable to sit in that feeling.) Think of something you’ve done recently. You might notice your ego come in hot to tell you it wasn’t a big deal or perfect. Frisky guy, that little ego. Taking a moment to silence that narrative and affirm, “I AM proud of myself!” is crucial. It’s like feeling underappreciated at work, except you’re the one in charge of doling out the appreciation. If you never stop to give yourself flowers where flowers are due, why would you keep showing up and giving it your all?
I am grateful to this one-year pause and to this writing process for helping me remember.
Living Authentically and Intentionally
Have you ever stopped to think about how many things we just take for granted as “the way things are?” Like that we need to buy toilet paper on repeat for the rest of our lives, for example! The truth is, who says!? My journey with deconditioning (taking a look at what my truth is versus what society has conditioned me to believe) has been ongoing for many years, but this year turned up the volume.
A fun side note- I’m pretty sure the first moment I became aware that I was on this journey was in Senegal when I visited a community of villagers from the hometown of my high school science teacher. I remember a million light bulbs going off in my head that said, “The American way is not the only way!!!!” as I let the air of joyousness, dance, movement, bright smiles, family, generosity, and a love of life despite objectively scarce circumstances seep into my pores.
When you strip your life of the things that tend to guide it, you’re left with something very raw at the center– you and your truth. Doing all this exploring independently has meant I’ve been the decision-maker at every junction. That’s a lot of decisions to make! So I’m constantly being called to ask, what do I want to do here? Where do I want to go next? What feels authentic to me? What’s mine? And what have I always just assumed to be true? How do I actually want to live my life? Spoiler alert– we all get to ask these questions. You don’t need to hit the road for a year to ask yourself what in your life feels authentic to you… And what doesn’t.
I recently had the opportunity to meet a friend at her home near Big Sur for the first time. I saw a different type of living that reignited a spark of inspiration, reminiscent of the homestead I stayed at in the Drakensberg Mountains of South Africa. One that included privacy in nature, access to a swimmable river just steps from the front door, and this part was new– no toilet paper! It’s a special thing to feel inspired, and one thing I’m sure of after leaving that home is that I’d rather use a bidet and a washable towel and never have to buy toilet paper (made from trees 🙁 and potentially filled with harmful chemicals?) again. It goes deeper than toilet paper, but I think you get the point…
Deep Connection with Nature
What better way to wind these reflections down than to take the attention off me and onto the star of the show? There was a beautiful Instagram post I saw a while back that I can’t find, so instead, I’ll just butcher my interpretation of it for you now. The best way to save this earth is to fall in love with it. Something like that. The idea was that if people would just go outside and get their feet dirty, feel the rain, and talk to a leaf, we wouldn’t have to fight so hard to make them care about taking care of this planet. As it turns out, it’s true.
My experience has gone something like this: First, you look at nature and say, “Ah, how beautiful are you!” Then you look at nature and say, “Ah, we are in a beautiful relationship, you and me!” “And then one day you look at nature, and you say “ah, you are me, and I am you." When you realize that it’s all you, that we are actually this planet, and she is us, then it becomes a little harder to use and abuse her without regard.
I believe that everyone and everything around us can serve as reflections of parts of ourselves if we choose to see it that way. Oops, I’ve brought it back to myself, oh well! It was on a hike deep in the Cordillera Central mountain range outside Salento, Colombia, South America, with a childhood best friend whose friendship has evolved into a travel buddy that I stopped mid-step and was overcome by the sudden realization. This beauty that had kept both of our jaws locked open (despite plenty of mud and bugs enjoying free entry) was not something outside ourselves. It was us. We were simply being shown the magnitude of beauty which is everyone and everything. It was so clear and obvious to me in that moment. There have been other moments when Mother Earth has knocked me over the head with what suddenly became so obvious. Other realizations, aha moments, connecting of the dots. Moments shaking with the trees in Grand Teton National Forest, skinny dipping in the icy water of Lake Tahoe, taking in the sunset over White Sands National Park and dancing with the flowers in Pacific Grove.
These moments of awe have been transformative. If you are ever in need of someone to give you perspective, pull you into the dance circle and remind you how to play, or hold you while you cry and assure you that everything will be okay, go outside and let the great Mother be there for you. I promise you she is waiting.
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If you’ve read this far, I don’t even know what to say to you. Hello down here! Thank you. In truth, this writing process was helpful for me and my own processing, and that could be enough. But when you make something you’re even a little proud of, why not share it with the world and see what happens?
So I’ll do my best to put a bow on this. From a beautiful home to familiar grocery stores, close friends down the street, and a stable full-time job, I stripped my life of much of what made me comfortable. I was left with something very scary at the core– myself (and a lot of uncertainty.) Which was the whole point, I think. Or did I even have a point? I think I did! I wanted to explore– myself and the world. To meet the unmet parts of me and learn how to love them and to meet the unmet parts of Mother Earth (though they will be infinite) and to learn to love them too. I now can see that these are the same journey.
From the fullness of my heart, thank you for joining me in this reflection.
Until next time,
Alie