Creative Homelessness 101

Nomadkins dispatch, 10.3.23

“Get busy with life’s purpose, toss aside empty hopes, get active in your own rescue.”* - Seneca

One of the biggest surprises of my life is that I’ve ended up here (and there, and everywhere).

I guess it really doesn’t matter how I got to those places. For now, let’s just call it a set of complicated life circumstances, fueled by a mashup of necessity, choice and fear (a series which may inspire future posts).

The good news is, I’m not living in a dumpster.

Although, when you stand back and survey my camper, it does have sort of a familiar dumpster shape. But dumpsters don’t have fancy off-road wheels, red and white pinstripes, AM/FM bluetooth stereo, slide-out camp stove and fridge, AC, heat and a roof rack.

So “Big Buddy” is something to be truly thankful for.

The only questions that truly matter now: what do I do with my circumstances? How do I perceive and approach them? How resourceful can I be to make the best/most of things?

That starts with two important mindsets: a commitment to daily gratitude for the tiniest blessing (hello, Mr. Bluebird!) and a newfound personal pledge to stay as independent as possible—for as long as possible.

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I began researching ways to live a lean, economically feasible nomadic life a few years ago, not long after my (earlier than expected) retirement.

Search Living the Van Life or CheapRVLiving on YouTube and you’ll get all the “tips and tricks.” Millions of them. Ways to survive on the planet without a home address. But if you’re used to all the comforts of having a home address, you might find some of the tips and tricks depressingly primitive—such as the best kind of “medium” to use in your Luggable Loo so it won’t reek to high hell (i.e., cat litter, cedar chips, etc.).

I also learned that younger generations—the digital nomads—have called bullshit on “Keeping Up with the Joneses” material excess, making smaller, simpler vagabond living more socially acceptable, even necessary, in an unprecedented low-wage, high-rent world.

Eventually, I stumbled on volunteer.gov, a vast clearinghouse of government volunteer jobs at national parks, federal campgrounds and historic sites all across America, many of which offered housing and/or full-service RV sites in return for a set number of weekly volunteer hours. Apparently, all you have to do is put on a happy face, and maybe don an Uncle-Sam-approved polo and ball cap that makes you look large and in charge.

Really? A low-pressure volunteer gig that would essentially remove the largest line item from a man’s skinny retirement budget? My SRB suddenly did backflips and started high-fiving itself. WTF! I was in.

Fast forward: after serving as a campground host at a U.S. Corps of Engineers property three years ago and an interpreter at Grand Portage National Monument this past summer, a surprising thing happened: I ended up loving the work. Loved the act of volunteering, giving back—just like my father did so long ago as a depression-era member of the Civilian Conservation Corps. Daddy planted trees in Oregon. I’ve unwittingly planted the seeds of an encore life filled with more than a little purpose (keeping in mind that in today’s society each of us will—at a certain age—become irrelevant and invisible). Not to mention the fact that, if you get selected and start building a successful track record, you might regularly find yourself smack dab in the middle of some of the most scenic and historically significant regions of the country, the way I did this past summer at Grand Portage.

Hanging with the Grand Portage homies at High Falls.

The latest: I emailed the park superintendent at Shiloh National Military Park and pitched the idea of a year-long “writer’s residency,” during which time I’d trade volunteer time for a place to live on site—while stretching one of my short stories into a novel (historical fiction set at Shiloh, coincidentally enough). I got a nice reply and it did not include the word NO. In fact, I have a meeting with the park super October 19th to discuss the arrangement. Keep your fingers crossed I get an enthusiastic YES?

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In closing, I must give a heartfelt shout out to the loving, generous family members and friends who’ve given me safe harbor, encouragement and inspiration during the sometimes confusing and difficult journey towards “Nomadkins.”

I won’t name names, but you know who you are.

*The Seneca quote at the top of the post pops up as a reminder on my iPhone every morning before I start the day.

Peace & Love,

Mark

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