If you don’t accumulate property and wealth,
If you prioritize freedom and adventure,
If you say no to all constraints,
What does it look like when you’re old?
Homelessness, of course.
This is extreme romanticism:
Live differently and die penniless,
Instead of joining the crowd and passing comfortably.
It’s concerning.
The other week I envisioned an outfitted truck, in which I sleep,
That carries me through the American west.
It holds a mobile dance floor, a Little Free Library, a coffee bar,
A miniature recording studio, a slackline, and gear for running and backpacking.
With this home on the road, I imagine bringing people together:
Teaching dance, interviewing strangers, hosting bonfires,
Speaking to young people, leading adventures,
Visiting friends (old and new) along the way,
Reading, writing, and educating in motion,
As I’ve always wanted, and always done.
I could buy it all tomorrow, no mortgage, low overhead.
This could be my future—but what kind of future is this?
Relying on the roofs of others, living close to nature’s wrath.
Showering, cooking, pooping—none straightforward.
Have you watched Nomadland? It’s not pretty.
Can I only romanticize destitution because I’ve never experienced it?
Would I really “starve and live on the edges of nowhere," like Bukowski,
Rather than accept the label of husband, homeowner, employee, father?
Yes, there are role models.
There’s Peace Pilgrim and Daniel Suelo,
Lynx Vilden and Fred Beckey and Papa Neutrino.
There’s Heinz Stücke (who I don’t envy) and Hanshan (who may not exist).
Yes, the list is short.
But there are more out there.
Those older adventurers with shining eyes,
No books or movies to their name but a hundred stories to tell,
Wise, child-like, and curious,
Still dreaming, still vibrating,
Still living a life unscripted.
How does one become such a person?
The holy bum, the committed eccentric, the principled wayfarer?
Where’s the course, the degree, the continuing education for that?
I don’t fear homelessness—I fear disconnection.
The big empty house, the loneliness that echoes through hallways.
I fear the settled mind and the exhausted heart.
To dream of a dirtbag future
Is it giving up, or holding on?
Let’s find out. ✹
What if, at some point, you had that abode, but it was filled constantly with a revolving door of friends visiting you? Or foster children? Or an adopted child you homeschool and travel with a la Lainie Liberti? Or all of the above? I know a family who has had 40+ people over every single Monday for taco night, without fail for decades. Bring the party to you when traveling always may not be an option anymore…and having a place doesn’t have to mean never traveling.
There is YouTube channel that you might appreciate - Jay Wanders Out. Jay is a 50ish year old former Marine and IT worker that cashed out his his 401k and sold his house a few years ago, and now lives out of his Toyota 4Runner, exploring the north in the summer and south in the winter, camping for free most nights and hitting a paid campground once or twice a week to shower, etc.
Living in your car while crashing with family once in a while used to be the very definition of bum. Now we call them content creators and many of them are raking in 6 figure incomes traveling FT while producing weekly videos. From what I can tell most of them are still putting in 30-40 hours a week as video editing is slow work - but I guess doing it from the most scenic places in the country/world makes it worth it.