“Where do you live?” someone would ask.
“In this camper,” I would say, pointing at our most recent house on wheels.
“Where’s home?” someone else would ask.
“Wherever our camper is parked,” I would say. (Or “Wherever our boat is anchored,” in the previous decade.)
“Where are you from?” yet another would ask, undoubtedly noticing an accent.
“From here, at the moment,” I would answer. Easy does it and simple is what I like.
Our current truck camper and home
Of course, the reality is a bit more complicated. I was born and raised and worked and lived in Belgium until the summer of 2003 arrived and a plane to the US was boarded and I “never looked back.” The harsh truth of this decision on a social, emotional, relational, and roots level only dawns on others when I mention that all my longtime friends and all my family members still live in Belgium. This nomadic lifestyle is not for anyone with homesickness or tight-knit family needs.
(As always, click on or hover over photos in galleries to see their captions.)
Ever since I met Mark, the end of 2004, my (second) residency address is in Newburyport, Massachusetts. While we never actually lived there other than short visits back from further afield and those two Covid springs and summers, I am extremely familiar with this town, our room above the garage, friends, acquaintances, and Mark’s family.
The waterfront in Newburyport
And then there’s our actual home. No matter in what form it comes, floating, driving, or being carried by a truck, it’s where I live fulltime and where my companions wait for me – whether this is in the United States or another country. It’s where my heart sings, what my soul craves, where my body relaxes, and where life makes sense. It’s my chosen lifestyle; it’s where I belong.
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