Dear ones -
We have a little influx of new folks to the list here: welcome!
When I was younger and I'd travel, I would send long notes out with impressions and experiences from the road. Recently, I've been experimenting with bringing that version of me back and interweaving stories of my nomad trails and pilgrimages with my practices in animism, spirituality, folk tales and traditions, and ancestral wisdom. All to wonder how do we shift from burnout to thriving in these modern times?
Today marks eight months on the road - eight months of being in Scotland and, now, Ireland.
Eight months of living out of a suitcase, of being mostly without even a car to offer some consistency, a through-thread of home.
I’ve worn down treads on shoes. I’ve walked holes into four pairs of pants. I’ve lost count of the number of different beds I’ve slept in, the number of drawers I’ve opened multiple times in strange kitchens because I can’t remember what’s where.
I’ve had meltdowns in super markets because every single one of them is different, making and each and every shopping trip a scavenger hunt… and sometimes I’m hungry and just need food, like, now.
A bed in a private room and a good, private shower are things I don’t take for granted.
Remarkably, I’ve only had one night where I woke up in an absolute panic and for a solid 30 seconds had absolutely no idea where (or when) I was.
I’ve also found little routines to help ground me:
- using my own pillow so even in strange beds, there’s always something familiar;
- buying myself flowers anytime I’ll be in one place (not a dorm room in a hostel) a week or longer;
- setting up my travel altar (and taking it down when it’s time to leave);
- orienting myself to the cardinal directions when I arrive somewhere so I know where the sun is rising and setting;
- walking the hedgerows and coming to know and recognize the plants and trees I encounter, so wherever I go, I’m surrounded by “friends” and kin;
- paying attention to the weather, the number of daylight hours, the rhythms of the animals around me.
I do my best to keep my eating and movement habits consistent and nourishing. Sometimes that’s easier than others.
I’ve been met with hospitality, generosity, indifference, projection. I’m reminded time and again that humans are complex and nuanced creatures. Nothing is black or white. Most people are doing their best and want to help. Most people are also struggling and operating at their maximum capacity and that affects our ability to connect and support each other.
It’s easy to idealize and romanticize life on the road.
Social media and hashtags have gone a long way towards glamorizing the nomad life. Yet most countries also have a history of criminalizing and taking legal measures to make life harder for humans who are without fixed address (the Gypsies and Romany people in Eastern Europe/ the Mediterranean, the Travelers in Ireland and Scotland, the Sami people of Lapland who follow the herds of reindeer and move between winter and summer grazing spots, not to mention other indigenous peoples around the world who would’ve followed herds and been seasonally nomadic/ migratory themselves).
(Notice the subtle distinction between “without fixed address” and “homeless”. To be without fixed address does not necessarily mean to be homeless.)
Humanity has a longer history of being “without fixed address” than they do with property ownership models which base prosperity on staying in one place. Even when humans began to live in “villages”, in the early stages, we mostly see agricultural land collectively stewarded - the responsibility and rewards being shared in different ways.
That is, until industrialization and technological developments created enough excess abundance that suddenly questions of ownership, status, and protection of that abundance and status became more and more relevant.
As capitalism and industrialization became the dominant economic models and driving factors in structuring society, a tension sprang up between those who “stayed put”, “worked hard”, “contributed to society” and those who existed on the margins - “grifters,” “lazy good-for-nothings who steal rather than work”, etc.
Moral superiority was awarded to those who bought into the system. And those who operated by a different understanding of social systems and stewardship models were legally and culturally villainized.
Folk stories warning about laziness vs being a good human became interpreted less through the lens of whether someone is doing the work of relationship (with their community and their role as steward of the land), and more more through the lens of resources and productivity.
Nomadism became something to both judge and fetishize (through the idea of “vacation” and fancy van build-outs). The grass is always greener, right?
The result?
Internalized narratives that:
- Working ourselves to burnout was now good. Resting and moving in cycles and seasons was now bad.
- Individual ownership and one-time acts of generosity were good. Collective stewardship and interdependent models of success were bad.
- Debt was bad (unless it's just the right amount of debt to be considered good by lending agencies). Feeling indebted was also bad (when in reality, feeling indebted in the right ways is part of what keeps relationships circulating).
But our longer ago ancestors looked to nature as a teacher in how to be alive in the world. They would’ve seen how some animals held down clear territories and others migrated with the seasons. They would’ve seen the ecological health that resulted from having both.
Perhaps, they also understood the need for humans to do the same. Some held the village while others operated as cross-pollinators - bringing stories and news, healing, goods, etc from place to place. Perhaps they recognized that this, too, was part of keeping energy and relationships flowing in ways which prevented burnout and stuckness.
I suspect I’m more of a cross-pollinator than a villager, though my Taurus moon wants all the roots and homey comforts. Back in 2018 when I bought my old RV and thought my nomad life would be an RV life, I think I was avoiding choice, trying to have both.
Living out of a suitcase, without even a car as home base, on fairly limited finances for such a long stretch has invited me more deeply into a state of “without fixed address” and into deeper curiosity around things like: “being a burden”; community care; contribution and hospitality; generosity and receivership; the weight of things; what’s actually necessary for a good life; travel as privilege and travel as necessity; resources and relationships. And, of course, what all of this has to do with burnout.
I'm increasingly aware that when there is no village, when everyone is expected to be “self-sufficient”, fixed-address people are operating so close to maximum capacity all the time, they have very little room (on any level) for a traveler passing through. They feel the need to “protect” their resources (time, money, energy, house/ food, etc) from being taken advantage of (and so much of their resources are going into maintaining what they have anyway). They want to be generous but end up over-stepping their own limits, leaving them feeling hurt, burned, and/or varying degrees of resentful.
And as a traveler, navigating the challenges and stresses of the road and needing the benefits of community and places to land and rest, I find myself struggling to feel like I can really set my stuff down and lean in when I do land somewhere. I often feel like I have to do more to help out and also that I’ll never be able to do enough. I worry about being a burden. I fawn and express desperate gratitude (whether for crumbs or actual generosity). I try to not lean too hard on the space or relationship so I don’t take the person over their limits and end up in a relational mess. All in addition to trying to keep my business going. Which leaves me both over-doing *and* under-doing, over-stepping, collapsed, and also unable to actually trust and connect. Which, more often than not, still results in a trail of frayed relationships.
For a long time I worried this was a personal problem (and certainly there is much in my own patterns around co-dependence, interdependence, and self-responsibility I continue to look at and learn from). But what if it’s also a collective problem?
What if it’s another symptom of the breakdown of webs of kinship and community caused by shifting value to individuals and their resources, rather than relationships?
What if it’s another way humans are no longer free to be valued for what they each uniquely bring to a situation, but for what they can “do” based on metrics of industrial necessity?
Over these eight months I’ve often wondered: what would it be like if my traveler’s reciprocity for hospitality could be my healing work… and it wasn’t happening because it’s just what I do, like breathing, but because it was specifically requested, invited, valued?
And as I dropped into deeper surrender and trust with myself and the journey in the last few months, as something deeply internal shifts around generosity, worthiness, relationship, and waiting for the right invitations rather than acting out of desperation… it happens.
My current host was feeling stuck and a little overwhelmed in the face of her work, her recent separation, and new, mostly, empty-nester status. I arrived at the house and the energy was also heavy and stuck. I could feel the cords and entanglements still present from those who had moved out under not-great circumstances. There were lots of partially complete projects around. I suspected she was in a state of functional freeze (a nervous system state where we seem like we’re functioning fine on the surface, but underneath, we’ve somewhat shutdown and find ourselves unable to start or complete things, make decisions, take action, feel our emotions, etc).
In the last two weeks, we’ve been doing energy work on her and on the house. We’ve been decluttering and moving furniture around. We’re asking what this space needs to feel like sanctuary to her - a place where she can rest and feel nourished because she does so much for others.
As a result of the work, the house feels immensely lighter (everyone who has entered in the last week has commented on how different the house feels and how pleasant it is to be here). She’s also moved from numb to periodic bursts of tears and anger - a good sign that things are moving again. She’s cut ties with some people and drawn some new boundaries with others. The dogs even seem to be settling into a calmer and less reactive state.
It’s been deeply rewarding and also a lot - I’m noticing how much it takes from me to hold space on such a deep, intimate level for so much to unfold (while also living in that space). But what a fascinating and meaningful experiment.
Is this what it was like for the healers to come into a space, bringing their presence and energy, being in service to more harmony within a community, receiving recognition and appreciation for what it was they brought; and to then head back into the liminal space of the wild in-between to commune and restore themselves, before arriving at the next place?
Perhaps.
I look forward to the experiment continuing.
As I’ve been helping others create sanctuary, I’ve been reworking our Sanctuary and it’s up and ready for registration.
It’s now a monthly gathering, on the second Monday of each month - a space for deep rest and soul nourishment when you’re in a place of burnout.
You can drop-in or buy a package and schedule yourself into six of our gatherings at a time. (I’m also in the process of launching a Substack where I’ll be moving more of these longer form, deeper musings. I’m anticipating including Sanctuary for paying subscribers there.)
In the following weeks, I’ll share more about other ways “sanctuary” has been coming through for me on this trip - sacred sites, old trees, ancestral rituals, friends, and more. And I’ll share more about why this current iteration of Sanctuary is set up as it is.
In the meantime, what do you think about all this? What have your experiences been either as someone who holds the village, or someone who moves between? I'd be interested to hear. <3
with Love from the road,
Kate
P.S. In addition to Sanctuary re-launching, we're a little less than a month away from Summer Solstice. To mark the moment when the sun is at its highest in the Northern Hemisphere, you're welcome to join me:
online for our Sun, Moon, Fire, and Soil gathering;
or in person in Wales, UK at the Elements Retreat.
