Am I a Traveler, a Migrant, a Nomad, a Climate Refugee, or a Social Scientist?

October 25, 2018 Katt Annie Epiphanies, Feeling Good, What Makes It Possible 0

And now for some navel gazing. After being out here on the road for 16 months I often wonder what I have become. Am I a traveler, a migrant, a nomad. a climate refugee, or a social scientist? Let me consider each option:

Traveler

[trav-uh-ler, trav-ler]
noun
  1. a person or thing that travels.
  2. a person who travels or has traveled in distant places or foreign lands.
  3. traveling salesman.

Yes I travel, but I do not consider myself a traveler. I am a camper. I ideally set up in one spot for three weeks at a time, which is the maximum length of time my campground membership allows. I love the feeling of setting up camp and knowing I have a luxurious three weeks ahead of me before it’s time to move. I dig in deep, sometimes setting up an elaborate camp with The Tiny and the awning and hippie panels and rugs and dog fencing and lighting, and I settle in. I work and cook and eat and live and use my car to shop and hike and sightsee and visit with the folks I’m lucky enough to be near. When the end of my three weeks approaches, I start to disconnect from the place, and focus on the packing and moving. Driving day is  tiring. And then I arrive at the new place (ideally less than a three-hour drive), set up, and settle in. Lather, rinse, and repeat.

In my mind, travelers are those people who move often. They might be in a Class C (built from a truck chassis) or a big Class A motorhome (shaped like a bus), or a Class B motorhome (built from a van). Many don’t tow a separate vehicle and so they must move their rig to go places or sightsee or shop. That is not the life for me. I need to settle in and focus and to have a car to get around. But for folks who are on vacation or retired or who make traveling videos for YouTube, then moving often would be called for. They are the travelers.

Migrant

mī-grənt
noun
  1. a worker who moves from place to place to do seasonal work.
  2. an animal that migrates.

This kind of fits when I think of migratory birds. My goal is to “chase 70” as much as possible. I want temperate weather, which is dry and not humid and around 70 degrees. Some people want to experience the seasons. I don’t. It’s probably because of my lifestyle in The Tiny with a dog to exercise and a large outdoor covered porch (awning area). All that performs best in mind weather. I recently found out that my spirit animal in Native American beliefs, based on my birth date, is the goose. That fits. I’m migrating with the weather. I often think about the 200,000 years that modern humans have been on Earth. For the vast majority of that time, we have been migrating with the seasons, to gather and hunt. I feel this connection with our ancestors deeply. Setting up camp and then moving and setting up again has come to feel so natural.

Nomad

nomad [noh-mad]
noun
  1. a member of a people or tribe that has no permanent abode but moves about from place to place, usually seasonally and often following a traditional route or circuit according to the state of the pasturage or food supply
  2. any wanderer; itinerant.

I identify with the first definition of a nomad in that I move seasonally. But I don’t have a tribe in the sense of the old meaning. I don’t travel with others (other than my dog, who is indispensable) and don’t want to. I don’t want to be affected by anyone else’s moods or agenda. I do have a spiritually based tribe, though, and we meet up on on video several times a week. I feel very connected to these folks who are all over the country, and some in other countries. I have a worldwide tribe.

I also have a tribe of sorts in the campgrounds of my membership. Most who I camp alongside are also full time RVers and we all know what’s up. I get a lot of comments on my small rig because many would not/could not live this way. If I am circling around a series of campgrounds for a while, I start to develop friendships. That’s kind of a tribe.

I definitely don’t identify with the second definition of being a wanderer. And I’m not itinerant. I’m not homeless. I’m house-less. I don’t wander, but I watch a lot of (too many) YouTube videos of those who do wander and record their adventures. I’m much more deliberate and organized. I am allowed to make reservations 90 days out with my membership, and I’m nearly always completely booked for the coming three months. That is my comfort level. I want to know I have a place to land, a spot on the planet with my name on it for however long I want to be there (up to 3 weeks).

Climate Refugee

[ref-yoo-jee, ref-yoo-jee]
noun
  1. a person who flees for refuge or safety, especially to a foreign country, as in time of political upheaval, war, etc.
  2. political refugee.
 Dictionary.com has not added “climate refugee” to the mix, so I have to focus on “refugee with a twist.” There will be more and more climate change refugees as the years and decades pass. Islands are disappearing. Miami Beach is disappearing. The wetlands are going. The forests are burning. The streets are flooding. The hurricanes are hurling and the cyclones are cycling. The droughts persist. The oceans are plasticized. How ironic that the folks who hate refugees the most are the ones who deny human-caused climate change. Their hardened ignorance is causing the very situation they want to avoid: an overwhelming influx of climate refugees.
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I’m not exactly a climate refugee, but I’m practicing up. And maybe I’m already there. I had to evacuate from my high-mountain camp a few months ago because of wildfires. These fires were described by firefighters as way more radical and hot and unpredictable than ever before. Are they lying? Is this a hoax? Fake news?
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And the recent flooding in Texas and in the Carolinas is just out of this world. I’m keeping a log of the increasingly radical weather events all over the country in each month so I’ll know where to position myself. I migrate to avoid all this. As for the fire I evacuated from, I should not have been in that part of California in the late summer to begin with. My bad. I got distracted. But I’m getting smarter. The Oregon coast is an amazing place to be in summer. Central Oregon, though, is a tinderbox. And in winter, the winds and rains are fierce on that coast. So it’s time to head south after summer. Yes, I guess I am a climate refugee. And I’ll get better at it. I have to cross Texas soon and am trying to figure out the best route to avoid climate change-related disasters. It’s not easy.
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Social Scientist
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[soh-shuh l] 
[sahy–uh n-tist]
noun
    1. one who studies society and social behavior.
    2. one who studies a science or field of study, as history, economics, etc., dealing with an aspect of society or forms of socialactivity.
Yes! This is the label that most closely describes what I’m doing. How can one live in a micro environment and be so darned content? How can one live so close to others in an RV park, for instance, and feel so free and autonomous? How can one move camp every three weeks, or shorter intervals, and feel so grounded?
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There is something important about this way of life that I have not been able to quantify or articulate. The deep sense of fulfillment and happiness are nothing I thought I’d ever experience. Of course, I take great care to make this lifestyle work out for me. I started out with a newish vehicle and sweet little trailer in good repair. I have all new tires. I connect with loved ones often via phone and video. I journal and meditate. I eat from a food plan that doesn’t include sugar or grains or huge amounts (which is a miracle for this formerly morbidly obese food addict). I am clean and sober. I work for my living. I am careful. I am mature. All of this adds up. This very moment I’m looking out my side window, past my hippie panels on my awning, to the needles on a pine tree glistening ridiculously in the morning sun, the still-darkened forest beyond serving as a backdrop. Moment by moment, the beauty is almost unbearable. But I bear it.
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I’m learning something powerful about migratory camping as a solo woman. This is my world. This is my campsite for the moment. This is my moment. And I will defend it. If I can help other women be more courageous, or more daring, or more connected with nature, I would be happy. The future is female. And so is the present and past. As a writer, I’d like to think a book will come out of this. I’ll keep meditating and journaling on that. But now, the sun is fully rising, and it’s time to get in the first hike of the day with the dog. Then, writing. Then, food shopping and walk about town. Then, video meeting with my spiritual community. And of course glorious meals. So far, it’s a perfect life for me.
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