Fail We May - Sail We Must
...our journey into the nomadic (and artistic)
Every so often, someone will ask, where do you live? For the people asking, it's the most natural question in the world and should be easy enough to answer. But for me, it's complicated. Depending on the situation and their level of English, I might pretend they asked, where are you from? And say England. But the honest answer is "here". I live here. And next week, I'll be living somewhere else. It's often a gateway question leading to a conversation about my untethered life of slow, indefinite travel. As this month marks five years since I started that life, let me tell you about it.
Why? ...did we do it
In mid-2013, after staring out the same Canary Wharf window for far too long, I needed a change. The Smithers-Jones1 lifestyle had turned me into someone I did not want to be. Noticing this, the missus, who we'll call Angela, hatched a plan. We would give up our London jobs, rent out the house, and backpack for six months around southeast Asia and India2 en route to a migration to Melbourne. Our first taste of long-term travel taught us a few things. Travel is fun. I enjoy photography and writing. And if you choose your countries wisely, you can finish with more money than when you started. When we reached Australia, like moths to a flame, we returned to corporate jobs.
Around this time, while flicking through paperbacks in an airport bookshop, I read something about "golden years". I don't remember the book or the author, but the basic premise was this. When we're old and look back on our lives, we will regard the ages of 40 to 60 as our mental, physical and financial prime. So, we must use these years wisely and not waste them. I continued my artistic endeavours alongside my data-driven day job. Context-switching was tough, and I was not doing either of them justice. In late 2019, with a quarter of my so-called golden years behind me, I realised two things. Spending another couple of decades in the office was a bad idea. And Confucius was right. He who chases two rabbits catches neither.
When the pandemic hit, we were living in Madrid. I was studying documentary photography and reportage while Angela was charming the locals with her grasp of the Spanish language. I hoped the course would lead to job opportunities in a creative field. If it didn't, we would choose a place to live and return to something resembling our old life. But it soon became clear the authorities and their accomplices in the media were conspiring to take those options (and our freedoms) away from us. We were trapped. Thankfully, philosopher Albert Camus gave us a way out. "The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion."
For the rest of the pandemic, we moved around as best we could - Germany, Holland, the UK, Mexico, Colombia, El Salvador, Guatemala, Costa Rica, Spain and Morocco. We attempted to work online with limited success and did a lot of thinking, mostly about our values and what makes us tick. The upshot was I'm a man of simple pleasures who enjoys photography and writing. And Angela is much the same, except she enjoys drawing and painting. We both felt the urge to live more authentic versions of ourselves and be open-minded to new experiences and opportunities. With no kids to justify the mundanity of a nine-to-five, we decided to continue the nomadic life.
How? …does it work
The word nomad conjures up visions of bedouins dragging camels across a desert or remote workers hunched over laptops in distant cafes. We are neither of the sort. The great outdoors is ours in small doses, and our attempt to earn online failed. Without salaried incomes, we don't qualify for the special extended stay visas those digital types enjoy. That means, despite feeling like we don't fall into their camp, we are tourists, a category that restricts us to 90 days in most countries.
Financing this life is a tricky subject with many caveats. Our global travel options depend, to a large degree, on the strength of the currency in which we earn our money. The stronger the currency, the more options we have. We have a passive income from rental property. But without proper day jobs, we learnt to be flexible and compromise. So, we move slowly, take advantage of long-stay discounts, use public transport, and eat and drink with the locals.
Friends have told me they will follow in my footsteps when their finances allow. I understand the impulse. Financial autonomy means different things to different people. You have to do the sums. From where I'm standing, living permanently in either of my two countries of residence is expensive and requires me to work for the man to make ends meet. If I move around, the world, as Shakespeare would say, is “my oyster”. For the relatively small price of adjusting my expectations, I can work for myself on personal projects before my powers diminish.
There’s an old saying. The rich stay rich by pretending to be poor. The poor stay poor by pretending to be rich. We’re somewhere in the middle. Our freedom comes from living below our means.
Shifting to a nomadic lifestyle doesn't happen overnight. We had to think about our stuff and what to do with it. Migrating to Australia helped us whittle things down. And our visit to the slums of Mumbai showed us how little people need to be happy. Departing Australia five years later left us with four big boxes and a few bags of clothes. Gone were the cars, furniture, TVs, bikes, golf clubs and anything larger than a laptop. Where we drew that line depended on storage options and how sentimental we chose to be. Luckily, I have a mother and stepdad with a garage and a loft.
After getting our possessions down to a manageable level, it became about keeping it that way. Resisting the advertising and peer pressure that has us buying things we don't need was a necessary step. Some people call this minimalism3 and treat it like an extreme sport, counting their possessions and giving themselves a pat on the back. We're not into that nonsense. We just wanted to simplify and swap stuff for experience. With Angela's art and my photography, we take what we need. On the road, less is more, so it's one in, one out.
What? …is it all about
In my fifty-odd years on this planet, the future has never felt more uncertain. Society and technology are changing quicker than ever, and we don't know what's around the corner. Living for the day with flexibility and freedom feels like the right response.
But there was a catch. Two decades of corporate conformity had left me feeling like an actor who couldn't remember his lines. At the same time, it had also given me a financial cushion and an opportunity to reinvent myself. Letting go was easier said than done. Not being a natural risk taker, I was unsure how firmly to close the door on my old profession. I thought about my future self and what might make him happy. If my hunch is correct, and my creative outlook guides me to interesting people and places, there's half a chance he will be.
For personalities like mine, my comfort zone is my coffin. This nomadic lifestyle keeps me on my toes and makes me feel alive. The new town velocity forces me to plan ahead and continually figure things out, and the time limitation in each place gives me a sense of urgency and focus. Putting things off is not an option and the nowness4 breeds intentionality.
But it's not all gravy. The systems that run this world want us back in our box. They are designed for people who live in one place, work jobs, hold debt, have utility bills and top-up their pensions. So, whether we intend it or not, living this way is a provocative move. The system and, by extension, the mainstream often shout, "Stay in your lane," which makes us feel like we're swimming against the tide or doing something wrong. I mention this because if I hadn't read The Courage To Be Disliked5, I might have been less able to handle the mental overhead of defying expectations and be more inclined to seek the validation of others.
The real kicker, though, is community. Being a mono-linguist makes meaningful connections with locals difficult. So, most of the time, my community is online. I don't see my friends and family as often as I would like. And I'm aware that social isolation is an indicator of future health issues.6 I'm working on it. Building friendships based on mutual interests with people in different parts of the world is part of the game.
One thing that has been following me around, other than the missus, is my Englishness. For better or worse, it's hardwired. Conversations bounce from football to music, the riots, politics, and whatever else is in the news. These things are a feature of my background and inform my perspectives. Playing to my strengths, I recently used my cultural heritage as the basis for a project idea about Kathmandu. The idea, along with my portfolio, got me invited to an international artists’ residency7 in Nepal. From December, I will spend four months in the Himalayas with the pressure to produce. Watch this space for more on that. In the meantime, I'm taking it as a sign the good ship Rookster is sailing in the right direction.
Ps. Credit for the title goes to Gerard Sheehy, a county Cork fisherman. After a chance meeting in the summer of 2008, his family phrase8 found its way onto the forearms of one of my musical heroes, Andrew Weatherall, who we lost in 2020, aged 56.
International Artists Residency Program Nepal: AIR_MCUBE 2025
You've described nomadic and long-term travelling in a very accurate way. Brilliant writing, as always.
Hi Ben, I wish I could give you ten likes. Enjoyed the article very much, checked out the links, watched the videos (I still need to read the book about being disliked and the video about minimalism) but the reading was fantastic. I think you're kind of living the life of many of us who cannot afford it or are just too weak to start a journey like yours. However, following it is a journey itself and I'm happy to be able to do that.
Thanks for the inspirations as well!
Can't wait for the Kathmandu project, I'm very curious.
Cheers, Barnabas