Being a Nomad During a Pandemic

As a bibliophile, I've read thousands of books and full well know that books cannot be judged by their covers. Many things, in fact, cannot be judged by their external appearances. That adorable doggie tied up outside the grocery store may have a wicked bark once you reach your hand within biting range. That well-dressed man seated in the driver's seat of that flashy sportscar may be drowning in debt. And that healthy-looking person who seems to be "overly cautious" in this new coronavirus era may not actually be so healthy after all.

This was the topic of an article posted today on CNN.com:

Click the image to read the article.

Ok, so I wasn't really in the article, but I felt as though I could have been. Though I may appear to be a healthy person (a vegetarian! who bikes thousands of miles a year!), like those featured in the article, I am also immunocompromised.

How is this relevant? Because being a nomad -- particularly an immunocompromised nomad -- during a pandemic ain't exactly ideal.

I first learned about the coronavirus three weeks into January. At the time, I was in the final days of my two-month trip to South America. In a few days, I would return to the Pacific Northwest, where I would spend the next four months housesitting in Bellingham and Seattle. In preparation for reassimilating into the Puget Sound area, I had been casually perusing headlines in The Seattle Times. A January 21st headline read: First U.S. Case of Potentially Deadly Chinese Coronavirus Confirmed in Washington State.

Two days later, on January 23rd, I landed at SeaTac, the same airport where the positive coronavirus patient had recently landed. Though I had no appreciation at the time for how the coronavirus was transmitted, immunocompromised-me beelined to get the heck out of the airport -- no lingering, no drinking fountains, no bathroom stop.

Though the coronavirus became a reappearing headline in the paper, it seemed a distant reality. It wasn't until February 29th, when the first death was reported in The States, that the coronavirus headlines started to claim significant real estate in the media. I was in Bellingham at the time, and my friend, Alex (of Stomping on My Old Grounds and Meet Alex fame), had come to visit for the weekend. Beginning midday on the 29th, Alex, who works for a large Seattle company, began receiving work emails about the coronavirus. The first email notified employees that unessential international business travel may be cancelled. A few hours later, another email arrived -- all international business travel would definitively be cancelled. Within a few more hours, the company had cancelled all domestic travel plans as well. The unfolding developments of the travel restrictions at Alex's company were the tip of the iceberg, indicative of the changing-by-the-hour coronavirus madness.

Let's back up for a second. You may recall the following from Happy 7th Re-Birthday to Me, which I posted in November 2019:

Seven years is a long time to live a peripatetic lifestyle. Recently, I've been feeling an urge to plant roots -- to establish a place where I can build community and invest more deeply in relationships. A vague image of this "place" is starting to emerge in my mind. But until this image gains clarity, I will continue to remain open-minded and heed the nudges of the universe. I've been learning: everything in its right time. When the time is right, I will embark on my next chapter.

In my last seven peripatetic years, I haven't had much in the way of "traditional life stability." For me, stability has existed in the repeating cycle of my years: biking in the summer, traveling overseas in the winter, and housesitting in the shoulder seasons. For the first time last fall, my nomadic lifestyle seemed as though it was suddenly riddled with uncertainty. Two separate housesits were in question; these housesits collectively accounted for ten weeks of my time. I was to lead a bike trip in Chile in December, but violent uprisings throughout the country were casting doubts on whether that trip would happen. There was also a second Chile trip in January that was fluctuant for awhile. To top it off, my personal trip to Ecuador was uncertain, as political unrest had erupted in Ecuador just days after I had purchased my plane ticket. Oye -- there were too many balls in the air!

And then along came the coronavirus. COVID-19 was the cherry that topped off -- or better yet, toppled -- my discomfort with the seemingly lengthening thread of uncertainty in my life. All of the sudden, my urge to plant roots was undeniably intense!

Whenever I envisioned planting roots, Bellingham always appeared at the forefront of my mind. Bellingham is a well-educated, liberal, and conscientious college town. Nestled between Seattle and Vancouver (Canada), Bellingham has stellar access to forests, the mountains, and The Sound. I had become quite enamored with the city since first housesitting there in 2017. In the last three years, I had been spending more-and-more time in Bellingham, trying on the city for "look and feel."

As soon as I arrived to Bellingham from Ecuador, in late January, I start looking at properties to purchase. Though inventory was nearly nil, my realtor matched me with the perfect undeveloped property. I put in an offer, which was quickly accepted. The contract had a 30-day window for vetting the feasibility of a build. In the end, I decided to withdraw from the sale agreement. For a variety of reasons, I was getting a strong feeling that the property was too risky; the build estimates seemed unreasonably high, and I had a gut feeling that something bad would soon cripple the market.

After abandoning the property purchase, I looked into all sorts of other housing options. I investigated buying a tiny house and parking the home in a mobile home community. I talked with an acquaintance about possibly converting his garage into a two-story unit and living in the top floor. I considered a co-housesitting arrangement with a housesitter friend. I thought about canvassing folks who owned large, attractive properties and asking if I could park a tiny home in their yard. Lastly, I considered renting. At the time, renting seemed the least attractive of the options; after signing a lease, I would then disappear for six months to take part in my summer commitments.

But then, on February 29th, the coronavirus became an immediate reality.

Rather than lingering in denial about the impact of the coronavirus, I quickly surmised that the virus would have a significant impact on life as we know it. Or at least as I know it. My next months revolved around housesits, personal bike travels, and leading bike trips. My nomadic life has heavily depended on travel -- the travel of the folks for whom I housesit, my own personal travel, and the travel of the folks for whom I lead trips. Soon, my world (not to mention everyone else's) would turn upside-down.

I saw the writing on the wall:

We are facing a global pandemic of unimaginable proportions. 

All of my plans -- at least in the immediate months -- will be cancelled. 

For my physical and mental well-being, I need a place to hunker down -- especially since I am immunocompromised.

This writing made one thing clear: The time to embark on my next chapter is NOW. The universe had nudged me, and so it was that I signed a 14-month lease for a rental in Bellingham. Just as books with not-so-attractive covers can offer a surprisingly tremendous reading experience, sometimes an unfortunate pandemic can deliver a much-appreciated kick-in-the-arse.

Suffice it to say that I am really excited (Fuck Yes-excited) about renting a place here in Bellingham. For one, the location is fabulous. There is a trailhead right across the street, providing access to miles and miles of trails for biking, running, and hiking! The house is also near to Fairhaven, whose neighborhood bookstore will be the center of my universe (once the bookstore opens again post-coronavirus). For two, I'm very much looking forward to sharing the rental with 1.5 awesome housemates -- the 1.0 happens to own a bike business here in Bellingham (so cool!) and the 0.5 is a fountain of youth, energy, and creativity. For three, renting affords me time and flexibility to more fully experiment with the look and feel of putting down roots in Bellingham.

I am grateful for seeing the writing on the wall; as we're all realizing, timing can be of the utmost importance. I am also grateful that my nomadic life has prepared me well for facing this pandemic. In my peripatetic life, I spent gobs of time in solitude, and so a self-quarantine is nothing new for me. In being financially independent, I haven't had the need to rely on a job, and so I don't have to worry about losing a job. And should the economy truly suffer (as in "Great Depression-suffer"), I have seven years of solid experience under my belt as a hobo on two-wheels.

Though I may be meager in my external possessions, I am wealthy for my internal sense of abundance and self-sufficiency. I'm incredibly grateful to be where I am -- in both life and geography.

There is not a single person on this planet who has a successful read on this COVID-19 pandemic. We have no way of knowing how long this will last or what life will look like on the other side. Uncertainty is at an unprecedented high. Though, externally, life is crazy-daisy right now, we need to do the best we can to create individual bubbles of certainty, for our own physical health and mental well-being. My bubble of certainty is putting roots down in Bellingham...at least for the time being.

Thinking of you all, and wishing you well.