Oh, this is so funny. I was writing a newsletter last week, opening with thoughts on how we in my country count the week numbers. I was mainly contemplating the problem of commitment and how that unfolds for nomads, how it is part of the freedom mantra, but also getting in the way of the very wanted and needed community.
In doing so, I displayed another very nomadic trait, a trait many of us recognise: We have no idea what day it is. Or what week number it is.
It happens to me all the time. I confidently say, it is Tuesday, and people look at me strangely, as it IS actually Saturday. My idea of what day of the week it is is completely random. It is about the feel, maybe. I am not sure.
I named my newsletter: Week 35, and only when a reader got back to me, wondering if I had a time machine, did I realise it was actually week 28. There you go.
Related but not the same, most nomads wake up sometimes, not knowing where they are, just giving it time, then remembering. It is quite the darkness. Sometimes I have no idea of the season: Are we before or after summer? Is Christmas coming, or did we just get over that?
Recently, a different version happened to me, a first time of waking up, knowing exactly where I were, but also knowing it was coming to an end, we would be leaving in a few days. I just had no idea where we were going. Knowing there was a plan, I was not able to remember what it was. It took me two hours of coffee and a quiet morning before it came to me: A wedding in our family was taking us back to Denmark, easy.
Just a few days ago, I wrote an interesting mix of how to stay grateful, free and humble in everyday life, and what we can think about “screentime”. Now, this nomadic morning flow. I have been thinking the blogging should be more stringent, more one text about one thing, more focus, more clariety. On the other hand, I have been writing for 13 years now, consitently mixing the stuff with the flow, why would I change that now?
Today I shall mix nomadic elements. The hilarious chaos of not knowing basic stuff with the here and now. I never wrote the wrapping up spring in Denmark, and I might have to skip that one -
Here and now it is exactly nine in the morning, in a state forest in The Netherlands, special for two huge sand dunes called Zahara inside the forest. It is Monday, and I am sure of it, because I know the Magritte Museum in Bruxelles is closed today, and this is the reason for this pausing/practical day.
We often get the question: How does everyday life look when traveling full time? Just a few weeks ago, Jesper and I gave 7 talks in nine days (crazy), and in all seven of them, this question was asked.
The short answer is: There is no such thing. Weekdays and weekends are a blur; it is just days. Seasons are randomised, as we move faster than them sometimes - we look at the weather app several times a day, staying in the moment, interested in what to wear, where to go. Holidays are days where there are too many people at beaches and museums. The calendar a tool for planning travels.
Every day life of routines equally does not exist. A few things like sleeping, eating, brushing, of course, but really. A big chunk of the appeal of nomadic life is that we get to re-invent routines frequently, letting go of habits no longer relevant, taking on routines matching our needs right now.
If someone made a big fat analysis of all the data, there might be a pattern to track, but I do not see it.
We like to make sure to share a nice meal at least once a day. We like to work out in the mornings. There are lots of things we like. Some of them we carry over from one conext to another, some of them are tied to places, conditional by nature. If we need to adjust something we do so.
There is no rule to how fast we travel. Sometimes we move daily, sometimes we stay for months in the same place, though the plural of months is rare. But weeks, surely. I understand, and I remember from my own exploration of the idea of becoming nomadic, how from an everyday life based in a home somewhere, it would be nice to understand what this life looks like. What every day looks like.
The answer still is it does not. No rules apply.
Feeling our way, we create the days we need. We have a very high tempo. We get a lot of things done, we are very hungry for life. Sometimes we think it would be nice with a pause, but allways as in every single time, it seems more appealing to reach out for the next thing. Pauses are short.
What comes out of this is a conscious life. We have the habit of deciding what makes the most sense, what is worth our time, and what is needed right now. To be able to do so, we need to know what is important, what is needed, who we are, and who we want to become. And we do our best, knowing we could always do a bit better, aiming for that.
The Beta Village.
We just spent 7 weeks in Denmark, of which 6 was a Beta Village, getting us ready for the new project, we have launced. Community living at an organic farm in Denmark, owned by our dear friends, we were 5 families enjoying our time together. It was beautiful days of love and laugther, shared meals, morning beach runs, cold dips, literature, crafts, business building, community work, cultural exploration, dance clasess. It is interesting how life always gives you what you need.
Trusting this makes everything easier, also the hard stuff.
Trusting this is very hard when there is hard stuff going on. Not that there is right now.
Right here, right now I am in a forrest, the sunshine making its way thorhg the trees to beautify the already beautiful morning. My two youngest children (not young, 13 and 16) are chatting in bed, my son of 19 reading his book in his bed. My husband is in the big pile of sand, doing his yoga.
The seventh week in Denmark was the week of talks, touring the country to share and give back to community everything we have learned about unschooling and worldschooling: Abotu taking control of our lives, yet giving in, surrendering to what is and what is most important. It was amazing, and exhausting.
Overlapping, we drove to Jade Bay in the North of Germany, where a national park is shared with the South of Denmark and spent a little week there with my sister and her three kids on vacation, before we moved on to the Netherlands ot add a weekend with them to the count. Last night we said goodbye under a beautiful rainbow, love filling the air.
This is the answer to another often asked question: How do you stay in touch with friends and family after you left. Well, we do our best, we strech far to make moments happen. We spend a lot of time with people who are on vacation, or in their weekends, concepts that does not really align with our reality, yet penetrate as they are real for other people, people we love and respect.
Now, the morning in the forrest is unfolding. My teen daughter is inviting me to walk the dogs with her, and who coudl say no to that? I have shared a bit about the realities of the nomadic life, and this abrubt ending can serve as a real life example of how the nomad life, or life with all it is, has taught us to reach for the best option, to make the analysis and do what is most beautiful and what aligns most clearly with our values. Always open to the next set of options, opening in front of us.
Now, walking barefoot on a beautiful summer morning in a silent forest in an impossible country feeling the seabed mixed in the soil, to arrive at an impossible desert proving this is so close to not exsisting with one of the most precious pepole in my personal world, is my easy best option.
And I will leave it at that.
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