I’m a homeless man with homes all around the world. A nomad. “Home” is a relative term and in this case it’s where I happen to put my backpack down…
Rest, recover and relax. Any place with walls, on wheels, in a tent, on rails or simply under a roof.
Constantly traveling as a world citizen, home is wherever I happen to be for a while. Home is who I am sharing space or traveling with. Home is when I put my backpack down and unpack.
This is an always refreshing and ever-interesting way to live. In a sense, my backpack is my home so at anywhere or at anytime, I could be at home.
This is living out of a backpack.
Although I have an apartment in a high-rise in Miami and still have an active lease on a loft in Midtown Manhattan, I prefer my current nomadic lifestyle that I’ve been living since August 2012…
Constantly sleeping in a different bed; a moving vehicle, in a hostel dorm, sometimes on a friend’s couch, if possible in an island bungalow, and at a hotel if there’s nothing else or for special occasions.
That. Is. The. Life.
Once you live such a mobile and minimalistic lifestyle, you realize how little you need to not just survive but also thrive with all your gear that fit in just a backpack.
Home is where your backpack makes it.
[The photo of the backpack I live out of was taken at Ngurah Rai Airport in Bali, Indonesia.]
